


Monster

by moonintheknight



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Red Rain, Romance, Rough Sex, Underage (if you squint), Vampire AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:06:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2386094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonintheknight/pseuds/moonintheknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An erotic re-imagining of the <em> Red Rain </em> story. Dick Grayson is convinced that the creature who saved his life is more than just a monster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Blood & Rain

It was cold, dark, and pouring down rain, and the young boy was running, _sprinting_ as hard as he could.

“Come back, kid!” a voice yelled behind him. “Come _back!”_

But the boy kept running through the streets of Gotham.

Where in Gotham, he didn’t know. This wasn’t his city, this wasn’t his _home_ , this was a dark, dangerous, scary place, a town where people weren’t supposed to go out alone, especially a kid like him. 

When they had traveled here with the circus, his parents had told him to be cautious. _You never know who people really are in Gotham,_ they said.

But now his parents were gone. Killed by the man who the boy had just seen, in the shelter, moments ago. And so he ran.

The boy splashed through a puddle, his breath coming in shallow gasps. _Where am I?_ he thought. He looked up, trying to collect his bearings, but all he could make out was the gothic architecture of the old buildings looming above him. 

A raindrop hit him in the eye, and it stung. He wanted to cry.

He never thought he’d see that man again; the man who had killed his parents only a week ago. He didn’t know his name, didn’t know anything about him except for his face. He had seen that mean, sunken visage only briefly as the man slipped through the tent flaps, but he had known even then that the man was bad news.

 _It was him_. 

After that horrible moment when his parents fell, when it was over, all the boy could say to the police was “It was him.”

The boy felt a warm wetness on his face, so unlike the cold rain from before, and realized he was crying. He heard something behind him—footsteps?—and picked up his pace again, his breath turning into mist in the cold air. 

He stopped abruptly at an alley, noticing a small staircase, and turned. Just as he thought, the space was big enough to fit into, and he crawled underneath. It was dry and smelled like earth and dirt, warm scents that he never smelled in the sterile children’s shelter.

He would be safe here.

The boy brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trying to stay warm. Though he was wearing a sweater and jeans he was soaked to the bone and couldn’t stop shaking, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the chill or fear. Probably both.

He never thought he would see that scary, awful man again. He had been playing with another boy at the shelter, working on a puzzle, when he heard the caregiver on duty talking to someone. He turned to look and met the eyes of that very same man with the sunken face, who was nodding and talking animatedly with the caregiver but looking directly at him. 

The boy’s blood had run cold; he had started to shake, and the next thing he knew he was sprinting out the shelter’s back door, the caregiver screaming after him. He didn’t understand—the police had promised he’d be safe, that they’d find his parent’s killer, but the man had been _right there_.

The man going to kill him, too. The boy just knew it.

He sniffled and squeezed himself into a tighter ball. Maybe he could just stay here until morning. He knew it wasn’t safe at night, he had been warned of thieves, murderers, and gangsters who preyed at night in Gotham. But he could not go back.

He heard thunder rumble somewhere in the distance.

The boy willed himself not to cry again. He knew the real reason why no one liked to go out at night. Monsters, demons, dangerous creatures, stories that parents told their children to keep them out of trouble. But it was stupid, he told himself. _There is no such thing as monsters._ He buried his face into his knees and closed his eyes.

_It’s going to be okay._

Hours later—or was it minutes?—the boy’s head shot up as a flash of lightning illuminated the alley, followed by a spectacularly loud clap of thunder. The boy gave a little scream of terror, and immediately put his hands over his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut. It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. It’s going—

“There you are, kiddo.”

The boy whipped his head around to see the sunken-faced man, crouched a few feet away, looking him directly in the eyes. The boy emitted a pitiful, wailing noise, and scrambled out of the crawl space, and looked around wildly for an escape. The man was standing at the entrance of the alley. The boy had literally blocked himself in.

“It’s not safe to be out at night, you know,” the man started to walk closer to him, and the boy could hear the blood pounding in his ears. “Why did you run away? It was fucking stupid to run.”

The boy said nothing. He moved as far away as he possibly could until his back was against the wall. His eyes searched around, the alley dark except for a lone streetlamp at the end of the alley. No fire escape in jumping distance. No window he could climb into. Nothing. He couldn’t speak.

The man chuckled and nodded, and reached into his pocket. He still moved closer. “I told the guys that you saw me that day,” he said slowly, “And that you’d have to be taken care of. Who knows what you might squeal.” He took out the object from his pocket. A knife.

“HELP!” the boy suddenly found his voice. “SOMEONE HELP ME! HELP—”

The man moved faster than the boy could have believed. He tried to run, tried to get around him, but the man grabbed him and slammed him back against the brick wall, a gnarled hand pressed firmly over his mouth. 

“You know,” the man drawled, his breath hot on the boy’s face, “You’re a pretty cute kid. I _could_ take you back with me, leave this other nasty business out of it. We could have some fun with you.” The grin the man gave him was so dark, so chilling that he started to cry in earnest, shuddering with each sob and trying in vain to struggle away.

“No? That’s a shame,” the man sighed. “Alrighty, then. Time to join mom and dad,” he pressed the sharp blade up to the boy’s neck, and the boy felt it nicking his skin, beads of blood appearing, and he _wailed_ against the man’s hand—

Suddenly the weight of the man, the pressure of the blade, and his position on the wall was gone, all in an instant. The boy slid to the wet ground, stunned and confused. What had happened? Where had the man gone? 

He looked around. Then he looked up. And his mouth hung open in awe. 

He couldn’t see very well through the darkness and the rain, but he could make out a few things. The man, who had before seen so terrifying, so imposing, was now white-faced and stuttering in the arms of an impossibly large… _creature._ The boy could only see the creature from behind, but it was huge, far bigger than the man, and it had wings, which were flapping gently in the chilly wind. It was _flying_.

What _was_ it?

“N-No, you can’t,” the man sputtered from above. The boy could barely hear his words over the rain. “I wasn’t going to do it, I was just k-kidding, is all, the boy will tell you, the boy—n-no! NO!”

There was a horrible, gurgling scream, and the boy felt his chest clench in terror. The creature leaned down to the man’s neck, and then flapped his wings wide so the boy couldn’t see. But he heard. The screams turned into shrieks, there was a ghastly ripping and sucking sound, and all was quiet. 

The boy didn’t see what had just happened, but he definitely saw the limp body of the attacker drop to the ground with a thud. He stared at it, horrified—was he dead?--for only a moment, before he felt a warm flood of relief wash over him. 

He was saved.

He looked up again, and the winged creature was facing him now, silhouetted by the light from the streetlamp. It was landing. The boy knew he should be scared, and he _was_ , a little bit, but nothing could compare to the fear he had for his parent’s killer. And that man was now lying limp on the ground.

The creature had landed, was looking at him now, and the boy could see that it was incredibly large, almost three times his own size and even bigger in width. He still couldn’t see his face.

The creature had stopped moving. The boy could hear it breathing heavily, it’s entire body rising and falling with each breath. It seemed to be waiting for something.

“Did…d-did you kill him?” the boy found his voice once more.

A long pause. The only noise in the alley was the creature’s breathing and the heavy patter of rain.

“No,” came the response, finally. It was very deep, and it had a gravely, rough tone that made the boy shiver. The creature started to slowly close the distance between the two of them.

“Are you…” the boy trailed off, shivering, wrapping his arms around himself. “Are you an angel…?”

The question died on his lips and his heart dropped in his stomach as the creature stopped in front of him, close enough that the boy could make out its features. The huge body crouched down at eye level with the boy, and _now_ he could see the creature’s face.

“No.”

It was no angel at all. It was a monster.

It had horn-tipped wings and claws on both its hands and feet. It looked like it was wearing some sort of clothing, like black, leathery amour form-fitted to its muscles. A row of enormous, blood-soaked, gleaming fangs was set underneath red, glittering eyes, they themselves covered by a black mask. Huge, bat-like ears protruded from its head, and huge hot breaths came, horse-like, out of his nose and into the cold air.

It was a monster. It was a vampire. He should be horrified.

And he _was_ …but he was fascinated, too. As the Bat-Man’s red eyes considered him, he noticed something about the skin on the creature’s face. It looked almost human.

He opened his mouth to ask… _something_ , but he was interrupted.

“You’re bleeding,” came the deep growl, and just like that the boy flashed a hand to his neck, wet with blood and rain, still not looking away from the creature’s face.

“I…”

The Bat-Man folded one enormous wing and put it over the boy’s head, like an umbrella. The boy couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop staring.

“T-thank you. Sir,” he said very quietly. The creature considered him for a moment, and then started to move even closer towards the boy, who backed right up against the wall again.

“No, _please_ …” he whimpered, as he saw the jaws part slightly, the blood on them glowing like a warning. “Don’t hurt me!” _I thought you were protecting me!_

The Bat-man, saying nothing, snaked a huge arm around him and ran a claw across the boy’s wounded neck. It stung, and the boy winced as tears pooled in his eyes. It was hard to breathe.

“Please…”the boy croaked pathetically again, but the creature growled and he shut his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut again. What was he going to do? Eat him? Bite him? What was he waiting for? He felt the hot breath on his neck, a few cautious sniffs.

What was he doing?

He opened an eye and he stopped breathing all together. He saw the Bat-Man’s head lean down towards his neck, his mouth agape, and he shut his eyes again ( _I’mgonnadie!_ ) and felt the creature… _lick_ him. Right on his neck, where the bad man had cut him.

The boy couldn’t breathe as he felt the warm, slippery tongue flick across his wound. It felt weird, and a little gross, but the pain was going away. It was like the Bat-Man was healing him. 

The creature’s breathing was coming in deeper, more labored breaths, and the boy gave a little squeak of surprise as he felt him _suck_ down, hard, on the wound. And then the sensation—the sucking, the licking—was gone entirely. There was a very low groaning noise from the beast as it ran its nose against the boys neck, sniffing once more, and then it brought it’s head up again to look the boy in the eye. The boy could see his own blood on the creature’s mouth now.

“…Thank you?” the boy whispered at the monstrous face only inches from his own. _Had_ he been healed? His neck certainly didn’t hurt anymore. He tried to raise a hand to feel, only to realize that the creature had his arm still securely wrapped around him.

He seemed to be considering something again. The boy felt the arm tighten, and the creature’s wings spread out again, and suddenly the boy didn’t feel very safe at all—

“YOU THERE! _Freeze_!”

The creature whipped its head around and stood, in a flash its arm gone. Someone was shining a flashlight into the alley, and now the boy could see the whirring red-and-blue lights of police cars. 

The creature’s wings flapped once, and the boy felt another thrill of fear-- _Don’t leave!--_ as he saw the Bat-Man look down at him one last time and then rise, turning to look at the multiple cops that were standing, guns drawn, at the end of the alley.

“ _Don’t shoot!”_ a voice screamed. “ _The boy’s still alive!”_

“Wait,” the boy said hoarsely to his protector, “Don’t go…”

But the creature turned to give one last menacing look to the men at the end of the alley, flapped its wings, and shot like a bullet off into the rainy night above.

The boy sunk to his knees, staring after the creature, as most of the cops ran towards his attacker’s slightly stirring body.

“Dick Grayson?” a bespectacled, gray-haired cop ran up to him, his coat flapping in the wind and rain. “Jesus, kid, are you all right? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”  
The boy—Dick—looked blankly at the man, who had shrugged off his coat and put it around his shoulders. He was still talking, but Dick wasn’t hearing him. Wasn’t hearing anything.

As he started to black out, the man’s worried face fading from view, all he knew was the rain, and the cold, and the memory of warm breath tickling his skin.


	2. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Bruce Wayne.

TEN YEARS LATER

Dick Grayson woke with a start, alarmed to feel raindrops trickling down his skin.

 _Sweat,_ he realized as he let out a shaky breath, _It’s just sweat._ He’d had the same nightmare again, the one that had recurred in his dreams for the past ten years. Since the night he was saved.

Dick put a hand on his bare chest and felt as his heartbeat slowed to a more normal rate. He looked out his little window into the dark October night, through the branches of the trees that were quickly losing their leaves, and up at the bright moon that sat impressive and full in the black sky. _Where are you?_

“I’ll find you,” he murmured to himself. “I know you’re out there.”

He could hear his adoptive sister Barbara snoring on the other side of the wall, reminding him they had to get up in a few hours. He settled down under his blankets and turned away from the window, willing sleep to come back to him once more. _I hope I don’t have that nightmare again,_ he thought. 

As he drifted back to sleep, a small voice in his mind whispered: _I hope I **do.** _

*

“That’s two more attacks this week, isn’t it?” Barbara Gordon asked her father as she pushed some scrambled eggs from the pan onto Dick’s plate. It was seven in the morning, and she had blearily been making breakfast for her father and Dick, who were extremely culinary-challenged.

“Yes, sweetheart, it is, plus a disappearance we're looking into,” Commissioner Gordon pushed his heavy frames up his nose and sighed as he flipped through the _Gotham Gazette._ “He left three people dead. We’re not even sure if they were all _criminals_ this time…one of the victims was a woman…”

“Oh come on, a criminal _can_ be a woman, you know,” Barbara rolled her eyes as she sat down at the little kitchen table, a huge mug of coffee in her hands. “But…the killings… _why?”_

“I don’t know, Barbara,” Gordon gave his daughter a weary smile. “I’ve seen that _thing_ only a handful of times in the past five years, I couldn’t possibly tell you—” 

“He’s not a _thing.”_

Dick strode into the kitchen, dressed in his usual college uniform of jeans and a worn-in tee shirt. He plopped down unceremoniously in his chair and started shoveling eggs in his mouth, and the Commissioner and Barbara exchanged wary glances.

“I know… _he_ …saved your life, Dick,” Barbara finally said softly. “He saved a lot of people. But that was a long time ago, and the Bat-Man’s more dangerous than ever.”

“Well, yeah,” Dick said through a mouthful of egg. “But even if he’s killing these criminals, doesn’t that just make your job easier?” he turned to the Commissioner. “He’s doing us all a favor.”

“Son, it’s _murder_ , what he’s doing,” Gordon cut in gruffly, and Dick immediately shut up. 

He and his adoptive father had many arguments about Bat-Man—among other things—but there was little doubt left in Dick’s mind that, yes, this man was a murderer. Over the past five years there had been a dramatic increase in killings. At first there hadn’t been many, one or two every few months. Now there was at least one every other week, all with the Bat-Man’s signature: a brutalized, ripped-out neck, the victims with a look of frozen horror on their faces.

There was a long stretch of silence at the table, with Barbara contemplatively sipping her coffee, Dick swallowing down the last of his eggs, and the Commissioner staring fixedly at the paper, his eyes unmoving. 

“The eggs are kind of runny today, Babs,” Dick said cheekily, breaking the silence, and Barbara threw her toast at him. 

“Be nice to your sister, Dick,” Gordon admonished, and it was as if they hadn’t just been talking about the Bat-Man, the monster. Just a normal family in a normal town talking about normal things. 

“Sorry,” Dick made a teasing face at Barbara, and then turned toward Gordon. “So what are the boys in blue up to today? Anything else going on?”

“Besides investigating this…homicide…”Gordon began slowly, studying Dick over his glasses, “Nothing too hectic right now, thank God. Except, Bruce Wayne is coming back into town to speak at some museum opening. We needed to supply some extra personnel for that.”

“He’s back already? Really?” Barbara asked curiously. “Wasn’t he just here?” 

“I think so, dear,” Gordon nodded. “I don’t really keep tabs on Gotham’s resident billionaire playboys.”

He was one of the few that didn’t. There were many rumors surrounding the infamous Bruce Wayne, some truer than others: whom he was sleeping with, the countries he’d been to, the parties he threw, and the amount money he spent. The only fact anyone knew for certain was that he rarely stayed in Gotham for long periods of time, and hadn’t in almost two decades. He came back once, maybe twice a year for galas and parties—and, apparently, the occasional museum opening.

“Will you be there? That’s right around the block from work,” Dick noted.

“No, son, I’m afraid I have work of my own to attend to,” Gordon sighed, and started clearing his children’s plates from the table. 

Dick and Barbara’s smiles slowly faded when they remembered what their father would be doing instead. 

“Okay,” Barbara said slowly, getting up from the table. “But just remember to take it easy, all right? You can’t save Gotham by yourself.” She checked her watch. “We’ve got to get going, Dick.” 

Dick slung his backpack over his shoulder as Barbara kissed her father on the cheek. “Have a good day sweetheart.”

“You too,” Barbara called as she walked toward the door. “Bye, dad!”

Dick scooped up his backpack and followed her, and shot an upbeat smile towards the Commissioner, who returned it in kind.

“Have a good day, son.”

“Bye, Jim.”

*

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt if you could just _say_ it, one time.”

Dick and Barbara were on the subway that was speeding uptown towards Gotham University. Dick was a freshman, and even though Barbara was only three years older than him, she already held an undergrad degree in computer engineering and was currently in her second year of law school.

Barbara was, by far, the smartest person Dick knew, so it deeply frustrated him that she never understood _this_.

“He’s not my dad, Babs,” Dick replied, staring out the window. It was nice outside, rays of morning sun bouncing off glass. “He gets it.”

“It would mean so much to him—”

“Barbara.”

Dick hardly ever raised his voice at his sister, and this was no exception. But Barbara could see the resolve in his eyes.

“Sorry. I know you hate talking about it,” Barbara let out a deep sigh and leaned back in her seat. “I just was thinking…”

“Always with the thinking,” Dick joked softly, and she smiled and nudged him lightly in the shoulder.

“I was _thinking_ , smartass, that things have been kinda tense between you two lately. He’s still not budging on the cop thing, huh?” 

“No,” Dick groaned. “Of course I’ll finish school first. But he can’t just block me from joining the force when I graduate!”

“Actually, he probably can,” Barbara tucked a strand of glossy red hair behind her ear. “He’s the commissioner, after all.”

“Then I’ll go to Bludhaven. He’ll _love_ that.”

The truth was, all Dick Grayson wanted to be was a detective. If his ten years in Gotham had shown him anything, it was that the people here needed to help one another and work together. Dick greatly admired his adoptive father—hell, he was the one who had taken him in all those years ago, out of the goodness of his heart. But sometimes he felt there were better ways for the police force deal with the darker parts of Gotham’s underworld than the all-out war he seemed to be waging.

The war on gangs. On criminals. 

On _monsters_.

There was more than one reason why Dick and the commissioner argued over the Bat-Man, but the topic of the creature’s methods was the largest source of dispute. Commissioner Gordon was convinced that Bat-Man was a savage, uncontrollable monster, and, after he graduated onto killing people, was a creature that needed to be put down. 

But Dick never forgot the night the Bat-Man saved him, never would forget the way he shielded him from the rain and let Tony Zucco live. It hurt him to see that Bat-Man had become a murderer, but his victims were all criminals. And as terrifying as he was, Dick was sure he was not completely bad, and he wanted to prove it.

He wanted—no, _needed_ \--to find the Bat-Man.

“Yo! Dick!” Barbara’s snapping fingers in front of his face brought Dick out of his reverie. “We’re almost at our stop.”

Dick blinked, trying to clear his thoughts, and stood up. _Get a grip._ It didn’t do him any good to dwell on his burgeoning resentment while he had psych class to attend. 

“I have that seminar after my classes tonight, remember?” Barbara reminded him. “I won’t be able to meet you after work, so you’ll have to ride home solo tonight.”

“That’s fine,” Dick smiled affably as they exited the subway car. “I’ll ask Anthony if he wants me to stay a little later tonight. Wouldn’t hurt to make a little extra dough.”

The pair chatted about the possibility Dick’s boss _actually_ paying him overtime as they ambled up the busy sidewalk and onto the small courtyard that heralded Gotham University’s large campus. It actually looked quite scholastic today, with the unexpected sunlight shining on the brick buildings in a pleasant glow. 

“Dick,” Barbara said softly as they were about to go towards their respective buildings, “Don’t worry about dad, okay? He’ll come around. He always does.”

As Dick watched her head toward the Law School, a large cloud covered up the sun’s feeble rays, casting the courtyard in shadow. Frowning, Dick closed his eyes and took a whiff of the chilly fall air around him. It smelled like a storm was coming.

*

While Dick wisely left the cooking to Barbara at home, he had to admit that he was not a bad waiter. He worked part-time at Luca’s, a fairly high-end Italian restaurant that catered to some of Gotham’s elite. However, it was never terribly busy on Thursday’s at four when Dick started his shift. So far he only had three tables to wait on.

“So Dickie, you would _not_ believe who walked in here on Sunday,” drawled Carla Jones as she joined him briefly in the kitchen. Carla was an extremely dramatic and pretty waitress who was not much older than Dick, and although she hit on him shamelessly, he loved listening to her stories. 

“Who, Carl?” Dick asked, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. He wasn’t supposed to, but he rolled the sleeves of his black button-down during almost every shift. It annoyed his boss Anthony, but it clearly didn’t bother anyone else—he noticed Carla, amongst others, sneaking a few appreciative peaks at his well-muscled forearms.

 _“Mario Falcone!”_ Carla cried. “I swear to god, I was so scared, but he’s kinda handsome up close, like that guy in the third Godfather movie? He was pretty nice too, a little creepy but you know how _most_ guys that age are creepy anyway…”

Dick smiled at her and nodded gamely. Truth was, when he started working at Luca’s he was scared of the mafia clientele that dropped by there, primarily because his father was the freaking police commissioner. Deep down, though, he was still a little worried that they might remember him from his encounters with Tony Zucco, but he knew that was ridiculous. Besides, mob big leaguers like Mario Falcone didn’t come around enough for him to really worry.

“Gosh. When is your dad gonna _arrest_ all those Falcones anyway?” Carla asked, as if on cue.

“Who knows?” Dick called to her as he went to check on a table. 

He was taking an order for appetizers from an elderly couple when he saw a considerable amount of activity from the front of the restaurant, and watched as some of the restaurant patrons started tittering excitedly.

“What’s going on, dear?” asked the elderly woman, craning her neck to try and see the front of the restaurant. 

“I’m not sure,” Dick smiled down at her, “But let me go check. I’ll be back with your appetizers soon.”

As soon as Dick reentered the kitchen, Carla and two other waitresses swooped down on him. 

“Oh my _god_ , you would not _believe_ who just walked in—”

 _“So_ handsome in person, I had no idea—”

“I totally forgot he was giving that speech tonight, and he came _here—_ ”

“I’ve never met a **Wayne** before—”

“Woah,” Dick laughed, putting his hands up. “One at a time. Whose here?”

“Bruce Wayne’s in the building,” Dick’s manager Anthony came up behind them. He was trying to maintain a level of seriousness, but even he looked a little excited. “Apparently he has some ribbon-cutting or some such thing at that the museum, and he stopped by for a bite. Carla, you’ve got his table, and everyone else needs to be ready to go as well. No fucking around tonight, understand?”

The waiters murmured their assent and shot off in their separate directions. Dick cast an amused glance at Carla, who looked like she was about to die of happiness. Secretly, he was a little crestfallen; he kind of wanted that table. After all, he’d never seen “the prince of Gotham” up close.

There was no time to sulk, however, as the restaurant quickly started to fill and Dick busied himself on waiting his tables. As busy as he was, Dick noticed that everyone from the wait staff to the customers to even Anthony himself seemed to be trying to sneak a peak at Bruce Wayne. 

“He’s so hot!” Carla hissed to him as they crossed paths an hour later, and Dick smiled ruefully. He had glanced curiously in Wayne’s direction a few times, but he only saw flashes of a dark-haired man in an expensive suit sitting by himself at a back table. So far he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time to bring him an order, and he figured Wayne had to be leaving soon.

“Grayson!” Anthony called to him a few minutes later as Dick placed an order in the kitchen. “Come help bring this coffee to Wayne’s table. Then you can take your fifteen minutes.”

 _Finally,_ Dick thought, and he grabbed the coffee tray and followed his manager, who carried a plate of tiramisu, over to the corner where Bruce Wayne was looking out the window. He stopped a few feet back as his manager approached the table.

“And how are we enjoying everything tonight, sir?” Anthony asked smoothly as he placed the plate in front of the man, who looked up at Anthony with a fixed smile on his handsome face. 

“Very good. Thank you…it’s Anthony, isn’t it?” Bruce asked pleasantly, and Dick held back a snicker as his manager flushed a brilliant red. As Anthony started babbling delightedly (“Wonderful of you to remember! Yes, I _have_ been working here since my teens!…”) Dick got the chance to examine the billionaire more closely. 

Bruce Wayne was, as Carla had very accurately described, _hot._ The papers certainly did not do those blue eyes and gorgeous black hair justice. And his _body_ …Dick couldn’t help but notice how nicely his expensive suit fit his muscular form, and he had a deep, soothing voice that seemed to put anyone at ease, judging by Anthony’s reaction to it. No wonder all the girls were going nuts.

“Ah, and…would you like some coffee, Mr. Wayne? Richard has brought some over for you,” Anthony finally asked, motioning back towards Dick without even looking at him. Dick started forward, coffee tray aloft.

“No thank you, I’m f—” Bruce stopped speaking as his gaze shifted from Anthony to Dick. And something very interesting happened.

Bruce Wayne stopped smiling. Completely. 

Instead, his eyes widened and seemed to almost _darken,_ and he went from easygoing and content to angry, and, if Dick wasn’t mistaken, a little shocked. Apparently this guy got pretty offended over his coffee. 

_Rich people,_ Dick thought.

“Um…” he trailed off awkwardly as the older man stared at him, Anthony looking confusedly between the two of them. 

“No, I’ll. I’ll have some. Decaf, please,” Bruce allowed. While the look of stunned anger had left his face, he still didn’t take his eyes off Dick, who quickly set the tray down and started preparing the coffee. “Thank you, Anthony,” Bruce added dismissively, and Dick heard his manager stutter a courteous reply as he left.

The billionaire didn’t say anything as Dick poured the decaf into the little mug, didn’t move as Dick arranged the sweeteners and cream. Dick felt the hair standing up on the back of his neck, and he knew that he was still being watched.

“Will that be all, sir?” he asked when he was finished. This was highly uncomfortable. Bruce Wayne was indeed still _staring_ at him with that piercing gaze, and it was fucking unnerving. It made him feel like he should apologize for something, but what did he even do _wrong?_

Bruce just nodded and kept his gaze on Dick. _Stop that!_

Dick turned around quickly and practically power walked back toward the haven of the kitchen, ignoring two other tables that looked like they needed refills. Before he entered, he shot a quick glance back at Bruce Wayne's table and—

He. Was. Still. Staring.

“What the _fuck?”_ he muttered, practically colliding with another waiter in his haste. “Um, can I take my fifteen minutes?” he called to Anthony when he saw him.

“Take care of tables 8 and 13 and you’re good to go,” his manager nodded, then moved closer to Dick. “Do you know Wayne or something, Grayson? He looked a little disturbed when he saw you.”

“No,” Dick answered fervently as he headed back out to the dining room. “I have no idea what his problem is.”

Dick quickly checked on his assigned tables (while determinedly avoiding the far corner of the restaurant) and then nearly sprinted through the kitchen and out the back door into the empty alley. Usually there were one or two other employees taking a smoke break there, but the temperature had fallen, and it was already almost completely dark outside. Dick figured everyone else was in the break room.

He didn’t mind the chilly air, though. He liked being outside on his breaks, and it definitely helped clear his head after being in the sweltering kitchen and the somewhat hectic dining area. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He would _definitely_ need some de-stressing tonight, he didn’t know _what_ he did to make Wayne so angry. What if he complained to his boss? What if he got fired because Bruce Wayne didn’t like the way he poured coffee? He really needed this job if he wanted any extra money at all, and—

“Excuse me.”

_Speak of the devil._

Dick whipped his head around towards the end of the alley, and his heart jumped in his throat. He didn’t even hear him approach.

Bruce Wayne, in all his Tom Ford-suited glory, was standing only ten feet away with an expensive-looking coat draped over his arm, smiling somewhat uncomfortably. Behind him, Dick could see a limo idling at the entrance of the alley. He fought the urge to rudely blurt out, “What are _you_ doing here?” and straightened up off the wall. 

“Mister Wayne?” Dick said apprehensively. “Can I…help you with something?”

Bruce's smile softened, and he stepped closer. “Yes. I just wanted to apologize for earlier,” he took another few idle steps, “I feel like I may have alarmed you. You look very familiar, you see.”

“Oh!” Dick was surprised. He thought Bruce was going to cuss him out or something. He certainly wasn’t expecting an apology. “Oh, it’s fine. I...figured it was something like that.” _Liar._

“Good.” Wayne studied him for a moment, still with that half-smile on his face. “It’s Richard, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Dick replied, taken off guard once again. “How did you…?”

“Your manager said it,” Bruce replied, his voice coming in at a slightly lower pitch. _Sexy,_ Dick thought, and was immediately embarrassed when he did. “Do you have a last name, Richard…?”

“Grayson,” Dick answered breathlessly, “Richard Grayson. But. IgobyDick.”

Whatever game his eighteen-year-old self possessed was not nearly comparable to a renowned international sex god like Bruce Wayne. And it was obvious, too, by the way Dick's heart was literally _fluttering,_ and he couldn’t form a complete sentence, and he was slurring his words like a drunk. What was next, a voice crack? _Pull yourself together!_

“Okay,” Bruce said quietly. He was much closer now, standing only a little more than an arms length away. _“Dick_ , then.”

He had never really thought about his name sounding like a sexual innuendo. A slur, sure; there were countless times were he was insulted with his own first name. But he had never imagined that the word _Dick_ could sound so erotic on someone else’s lips, especially not Bruce Wayne's, who was smiling almost wolfishly at him now.

“Well, Dick,”— _He did it again!—_ “I’m happy I caught you out here, I was worried I'd offended you. You’re not done with work, are you?”

“No,” Dick shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the hypnotic blue of Bruce’s eyes. “Just on break. I have to go back in five minutes or so.” He shivered slightly when he saw Bruce’s eyes darken.

“Ah, I see…are you cold?” he clearly noticed the shiver.

“No, I’m fine, I—”

“Here,” Bruce had unfolded the coat around his arm and was already walking around Dick to drape it over his shoulders, and he shivered again as he felt the skin of the man’s thumb graze his neck. “Better?” he murmured, in that same velvety voice, and Dick shivered a third time. _Definitely sexy._

“Really,” Dick turned around, and almost stepped back when he realized just how _close_ they were now. “I’m fine. You don’t have to lend me this, Mister Wayne.”

“Call me Bruce,” he said easily, and Dick noticed that his skin seemed to almost glow in the darkness. “And please. Wear it.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Bruce,” Dick gave him a feeble smile, but he was honestly feeling a bit overwhelmed. Five minutes ago he was terrified he was going to get fired, and now here he was, with Bruce Wayne’s coat around his shoulders and the gorgeous billionaire right up in his face. _Find something to say, idiot!_

“So…did you just come here because it was close to your event, or…?” 

“Well, I came here often as a child,” Bruce said, and Dick found it hard to imagine this man as a child, “but yes, the proximity was a factor. Speaking of which,” he tossed an errant glance to the idling limo, “I need to leave soon. If you get off work you should stop by the museum.”

“Uh, thank you, Mist—Bruce,” Dick caught himself, “But I don’t think I’ll get off on time, I work until close.”

“Will you need a ride home?”

Maybe it was they way that deep baritone phrased the question, or maybe it was the way those blue eyes twinkled mischievously when he said it, but Dick was acutely aware of his skin growing warm, hotter, _hot_. This man, this gorgeous man twice his age with all the money in the world, was definitely, absolutely hitting on him.

_What!_

“Uhhh…” Dick couldn’t even enunciate, and Bruce Wayne smiled to his eyeteeth.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured, his eyes beginning to trail down from Dick’s eyes to his lips to his neck. He began toying with the lapel of the jacket that Dick wore. “Besides, I needed a better excuse than the jacket to come see you again tonight.”

“Haha, well,” Dick said, almost giddy with the idea that Bruce Wayne wanted excuses to see _him_ , “If you wanted to see me, you _could_ just come back to Luca’s and have me service you—I mean serve! Serve you here! As your waiter!” Dick felt his face go up in flames, and Bruce let out a rich, charming laugh. 

“Very good, but I think my idea is better.” Those eyes were looking at him with fondness, and a little bit of something else, and Dick noticed that Bruce didn’t blink all that much. 

“Maybe,” Dick replied sheepishly and smiled up at him, because it really was nice of Bruce Wayne to offer to give him a ride home, wasn’t it? And the way that Bruce was looking at him, with his eyes all smoky and that sexy half-smile…that heat went right to Dick’s groin, honestly. 

“Maybe indeed,” Bruce hummed thoughtfully. He moved the hand playing with the jacket lapel onto Dick’s neck and rested it there, his thumb grazing Dick’s chin. “Are you sure you don’t want to just go right now?”

“N-now?” Dick whispered. Bruce’s warm palm felt so good on his skin, he was kind of leaning into it, and he kind of felt like he wanted to close his eyes, go to sleep, but those _eyes_ …he couldn’t look away from them. “Well…I mean…”

“Why not,” Bruce breathed, and now Dick was sure those eyes were _glittering,_ they were so gorgeous, and why _shouldn’t_ he go—

“Dick, your fifteen’s up, Anthony wanted me to come get…you…”

Suddenly, the pressure from Bruce’s hand and his magnetic gaze were gone, and Dick blinked in confusion. In a split second Bruce had gone from breathing down his neck to standing practically six feet away. Dick slowly turned around and saw Carla, who staring bug-eyed at the billionaire. 

“All right, Carl, I’ll be there in a second,” Dick said shortly. He was more than a little pissed that she had interrupted…whatever was going on, but he was also still pretty mystified himself. _What_ was _going on, anyway?_

“Sorry again, Dick,” Bruce’s deep voice rang out from the mouth of the alley—how did he walk so quickly?—and he gave him one last dazzling smile. “I hope you have a nice night.”

“You too, Bruce,” Dick called back, and at the mention of his name Bruce smiled a little wider and turned to enter his limo.

Dick and Carla stood in silence as the limo merged into traffic and sped off towards the history museum, Dick staring at the limo, Carla staring at Dick. When it was out of view, the waitress turned to him, agog.

“What the hell was that, Dickie?” she practically screeched. “Why was he talking to you? What were you talking about? Why the hell was he even _in_ this stinky alley, ugh—”

“He…he thought I looked familiar, I guess,” Dick stated truthfully. He felt like he was coming out of a deep dream. Did he really just agree to get a ride home from Bruce fucking Wayne? And what did a “ride home” even entail? Dick wasn’t that experienced with other guys, only a few make-outs and one drunken blow job. What on earth was Bruce _expecting_ from him? 

Dick shook his head. There was no _way_ that Bruce Wayne would come back to pick him up from work, like a dad picked up a little kid from school. Jesus. He had just been messing with him, there was no freaking way.

“Really? Huh. That’s wild that he came to talk to you,” said Carla, stating the obvious. She shivered. “God damn, it’s freezing out here. Let's go inside, its creepy out here when it's dark...” she turned to go back inside, and Dick went to follow her.

“Dickie,” Carla asked as she held the heavy door open, “Is that your jacket? It’s really nice,” and it was only then that Dick realized he was still wearing the billionaire’s coat.

Maybe Bruce Wayne was coming back for him after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! So that was a much longer wait between chapters than I anticipated, sorry about that! I will say, however, that the next chapter should come within the week. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think about this one! It's going to get quite a bit darker from her on out, and suffice to say that Bruce most certainly has some _plans_ for Dick. Hope you all like it so far!
> 
> As always, thanks again for reading, and follow me on tumblr at moonintheknight.tumblr.com !


	3. Joyride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick receives some mixed signals.

In a matter of minutes after Bruce Wayne left, Dick morphed from an elated guy who just got hit on by a gorgeous billionaire to a shaking, panicky mess, and his anxiety only increased as the night wore on. It was now just after closing, and Luca’s employees were finishing with their tasks before they could leave. Dick had dropped three separate dishes, shattering two of them, and everyone was getting slightly irritated with him.

“Sorry!” he cried apologetically as he picked the plate off the floor. “At least it didn’t break this time, right?”

The dishwasher just shook his head and grabbed the plate from him, and Dick was startled once again as his manager came up behind him.

“Grayson,” Anthony said conspiratorially, “Looks like Wayne wasn’t pissed about your performance after all.”

“What do you mean?” Dick asked nervously, hoping beyond hope that Carla hadn’t told their boss about his interaction in the alley. 

“He left a 300% tip!” his manager grinned, and walked back towards his office. “Great job by everyone all around tonight…always said that Wayne was a good guy, no matter _what_ those rumors say…”

 _Right,_ Dick thought nervously, _The rumors._ There was so much gossip about Bruce Wayne that _some_ of it had to be true, right? As he went over to the computer to clock out for the night, Dick remembered the most recent tabloid rumor from a few months back. The billionaire had apparently been at a party in the south of France, and before the night was over he had absconded with the triplet daughters of the prince of Monaco to a private villa, where they stayed for an entire week. The papers explicitly stated that after the week of “sordid and outrageous sexual activity” was over, Wayne had left all three girls heartbroken.

Dick remembered how Barbara had guffawed at the story, and stated that if Bruce Wayne was even half the entitled asshole that the papers said he was, she would love to give him a swift kick in the balls. 

_Barbara,_ Dick thought, grabbing both his backpack and Bruce’s coat from his assigned locker. _I need to tell her what’s going on._

He flipped open his phone and saw that he had three missed texts from her already.

 **Babs G:** Seminar ended a little early, text if you get off soon!  
 **Babs G:** Just got home  & I take it you’re working late.  
 **Babs G:** Text when you get off, okay? If it’s too late maybe you should grab a ride.

Dick hesitated. Maybe he shouldn’t tell Barbara that he was going to be riding home in a limo with a salacious playboy, someone who he talked to for ten minutes and who he was pretty sure was only after one thing. Yeah, she would probably be a little skeptical of that.

But then, what if Wayne turned out to be a sadistic creep or something and Dick didn’t tell anyone where he was and he ended up dead in a ditch somewhere? He definitely _should_ let his overprotective big sister know about this; it would be the right thing to do. A nagging feeling told him, however, that she would take a cab to come get him herself if it meant stopping him from riding home with Bruce “Entitled Asshole” Wayne. So he settled for a middle-ground approach.

 _I’m getting a ride home, don’t worry,_ he texted back quickly as he approached the back door to the alley, _Expect me to be there in a half hour or less!_

Dick paused as he rested his hand on the alley door handle. What if Bruce really _was_ just fucking with him, and he wasn’t going to show up at all? What if he tried to hurt him? What if, what if…

He squeezed his eyes shut briefly as he remembered that night in a different alley, all those years ago. _Maybe you_ should _call a cab, or take the subway back_ he thought to himself a little sadly. _It’s the safe thing to do._

Sighing, he opened the door and walked into the alley towards the street. No limo in sight. He told himself not to be disappointed, but he felt his heart sink all the same. He quickly turned right out of the alley and headed towards the next street where his subway station was. _Idiot…_

He was so busy cursing himself that he didn’t notice the long black car pull up slowly behind him, didn’t hear the window roll down.

“I hope you weren’t running off with that coat, now.”

Dick whirled around and saw Bruce Wayne leaning out of a long black limo, a pleased grin on his face. Dick felt himself smiling, too.

_Live a little, Grayson._

“I’m pretty sure you said you wanted me to wear it,” he said slowly, walking over to the car, “But I haven’t really got the chance yet. I figured it would be good for the walk home.”

“Ah,” Bruce looked pleasantly surprised that Dick was actually flirting with him, “I see. You can wear it out another time, then. I promised you a ride.” Bruce’s deep baritone voice had a slightly sultry edge to it, and it sent shivers down Dick’s spine.

“Um…” Dick couldn’t tear his eyes away from Bruce’s face. He looked so seductive, his face half cast in shadow and that devilish smirk on his lips, that Dick was itching to just get in there. He was pretty positive, at least, that the guy wasn’t an ax-murderer. Besides, they weren’t alone. There was someone else driving the car, and Bruce had been so nice to him tonight.

 **Live** a little.

“Are you sure it’s okay…?” last-ditch effort to be a good, responsible boy.

Bruce’s smile widened, and now it could only be described as wolfish. “It’s my pleasure,” as he rolled up the window, he called to the front seat. “Alfred?”

The front driver-side door opened, and an older, dignified looking man stepped out and came around to Dick’s side of the car.

“Good evening, sir,” the driver—Alfred, Bruce had said—spoke in a crisp British accent that was somewhat intimidating in its eloquence. Dick surveyed him as he leaned in to open the car door. Everything about him, from the manners to the posture to the suit he was wearing, _screamed_ elite.

“I’m Dick,” he blurted, shooting out his right hand before the man could open the door. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The man briefly paused, and Dick froze, wondering if he had made some horrible breach in etiquette. But then the man smiled, a warm grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes, and shook Dick’s outstretched hand.

“Alfred Pennyworth. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, sir,” he opened the door, and Dick slid inside onto the buttery leather seat. Bruce was sitting on the far side of the bench, almost pressed against the window, and even as Dick moved his backpack to the floor he didn’t shift any closer.

“Where to, sir?” Alfred called through the partition from the front seat.

“Um—” Dick cast a quick glance at Bruce, but the billionaire just raised an eyebrow at him, and he quickly gave Alfred his home address.

As the driver pulled out into the street, Bruce called up to the front, “I’m afraid I was being very rude to Dick at dinner tonight, Alfred, he caught me staring. But doesn’t he look familiar to you?” 

“I can’t say he does sir,” came the posh voice, and then added sarcastically, “But I am very shocked you forgot your manners, sir. _So_ unlike you. Please forgive him, Master Dick.”

Dick laughed. “Oh, it wasn’t a big deal…”

“I _am_ sorry about that,” Bruce said earnestly, and then lowered his voice so only Dick could hear. “But who _wouldn’t_ want to look at you?”

Dick blushed for seemingly the thousandth time that night. Bruce angled his body so he was directly facing Dick, but still was still pressed up against the far end of the car. His magnetic blue gaze, however, was fixated on him once more, daring him to come closer. So Dick shifted, just a little, towards him.

“How was your event?” Dick asked, and Bruce snorted and waved his hand airily. 

“Passable. I donated a new aviary wing, and as a reward I got to mingle with the same old Gothamites, drink the same booze I always do, wore yet _another_ tux…” he trailed off lazily, his hand draped across the back of his seat, and Dick wondered if he was a little drunk.

“Careful, Master Bruce,” Alfred admonished from the front, “You’re in danger of sounding quite supercilious.”

“Don’t make me roll this up, Alfred,” Bruce warned, fiddling with a switch that Dick figured must be for the partition, but his tone was teasing.

“It honestly sounds like fun,” Dick said truthfully. “I’d love to go to an event like that.”

Bruce eyes glimmered and he flashed a smile that read _And_ I’d _love to take you._

“So, _Dick_ ,” the billionaire began, “What’s you’re story? I take it you’re a college kid, but you’re address isn’t near any campus. Are we taking you to your girlfriends or something?” 

Dick was somewhat surprised. He didn’t think Bruce Wayne was an airhead or anything, but he clearly noticed the backpack, figured out Dick’s age, and knew off the top of his head where his address was. For a guy Dick figured was a little inebriated, he was pretty sharp.

“Yeah, I go to school at Gotham U,” Dick said slowly, “I’m a freshman there. My sister’s a grad student there too, and we both live at home.” Bruce’s eyes were boring into him now, like he was hanging on every word he said.

“Very nice. And what do you want to do, Dick Grayson?”

“I want to be a detective,” Dick answered, almost too quickly, and he saw Bruce’s eyes darken somewhat again.

“Law enforcement, huh?” Bruce asked, his tone unreadable. Behind him Dick could see rain drops start to splatter lightly on the window. “What makes you want to do that?”

“My dad…well, my _adoptive_ dad—”he saw Bruce raise his eyebrows slightly at that, “—is the police commissioner. Jim Gordon.”

Bruce stared at him for a full five seconds, that same scary look that he had in the restaurant, and Dick felt his heartbeat pick up. The only noise between them was the raindrops falling harder on the windows. _You’re so stupid, Dick,_ he thought, _Bruce Wayne of all people is probably tied up with the mob or something, and you’re in his limo,_ **God** …

“I’ve met Jim Gordon,” Bruce said finally, and to Dick’s surprise his tone was much softer and lower, “He’s a good man, and a good cop. I’m sure…you’ll be one too.”

Dick beamed at him spontaneously (because wow, that was really _nice_ ), and Bruce, perhaps surprised at the emotional expression, looked briefly away.

“Sir, if law enforcement is indeed your chosen field, perhaps it would be best not to intermingle with Master Bruce?” Alfred intoned from the front seat. “He doesn’t socialize in the most _honorable_ of circles—”

“I warned you,” Bruce sighed, and Dick watched as he leaned over and flicked the little switch. The partition rolled all the way up, completely blocking Alfred from the back seat, and Dick was suddenly very aware of Bruce’s piercing gaze back on him.

“I lost my parents too, you know.”

Dick, who had been trying to avoid the directness of the gaze, immediately locked his eyes with Bruce. “What? How did you—”

“You said ‘adoptive father,’” Bruce said quietly, his voice very low, “And I figured…well. I figured your parents must have passed. And. Mine did, too.”

Dick opened his mouth, but for a moment he was at a loss for words. The expression on Bruce’s face looked very guarded, the lights and raindrops from outside making strange shadows on his face. Dick had completely forgotten about the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne. Obviously everyone in Gotham knew about it, but since it was well before Dick was born, it wasn’t talked about much anymore. 

“I…yeah,” Dick responded finally, “they passed away when I was eight.” He usually just stopped there when explaining to people what happened to his parents, but something about the look on Bruce’s face just made him want to keep going. 

“They were acrobats. Actually, I was too. We performed in a traveling circus as a family, and we had a trapeze act. We were pretty good,” he paused briefly to look at Bruce, whose guard seemed to be dropping by the second, “And we were called the Flying Graysons.” He smiled at the name, and Bruce did too, a genuine smile that made Dick feel very warm inside.

“Anyway… we had a month-long set in Gotham, and a mobster tried to extort the circus, but Mr. Haly, the man who ran it, didn’t pay up,” Dick looked away from Bruce. When was the last time he had told anyone this whole story? “And, um. They ended up—”

“You don’t have to say anymore.” That deep baritone sounded closer than it had been before, and Dick looked up to see that Bruce had finally leaned forward in his seat towards him. His expression was remorseful. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you about it. That was incredibly insensitive of me.”

“No, it’s okay,” Dick said softly, and really it was. It was unexpectedly nice to talk about his parents, as he hardly ever did anymore. He looked up into Bruce’s eyes, and the man was smiling at him sadly, and Dick felt something unspoken pass between them.

“You know what it’s like, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Bruce was staring unblinkingly again, and he absentmindedly ran a hand up and down his own thigh and sighed. “I do. I am sorry I brought it up, though. I, of all people, should know better.”

“I’m not,” Dick said simply, “I don’t talk about it with many people. It’s kind of nice.” He shifted a little closer to Bruce, who still didn’t move towards him, but for once it didn’t deter Dick. He was so gorgeous, and charming, and he actually _understood_ what Dick had been through…

A little voice that sounded a lot like Barbara’s sounded in his head, _He’s just “understanding” you so he can get in your pants!_

But Dick didn’t think that was true, not anymore. He still didn’t know why Bruce had taken such an immediate shine to him, but it didn’t seem to be about sex; after all, he hadn’t even touched him since they had gotten in the car. He almost looked as if he was keeping himself back on purpose, but he was still eyeing Dick with increasing interest.

“Did they ever catch him?” Bruce asked him seriously. “The man who did it?”

Dick thought of the alley, and the rain, and the knife and the Bat—

“Yes. The police caught him. Actually…” Dick trailed off for a moment. He _really_ never talked about this part of the story, but why not do it now? He might never even see Bruce Wayne again. “Actually, the Bat-Man did. He saved my life, too.”

Dick couldn’t quite understand the expression on Bruce’s face after he spoke. It looked almost…pained. Like he was upset. And his eyes were, again, unreadable. It was a very intense look, but this time Dick didn’t look away.

“Did they find your parent’s killer, too?” he asked, emboldened.

Bruce shook his head, once. “Never did.” He let out a long breath through his nose, and then shifted so he was leaning back against the window once more. He looked incredibly stiff and restrained, and Dick again wondered why he was staying so far away from him.

“But the Bat-Man,” Bruce rumbled, “He didn’t…hurt you? He kills people, I’ve heard.”

Dick shook his head. “Not me,” he said wistfully, “And I don’t think he killed back then? I mean, I guess he was creepy but I don’t think I really cared at the time. Without him I wouldn’t be here.”

“Hm,” Bruce had a strange smile on his face, “You’re a complex man, Dick Grayson. The Bat-Man can’t scare you, but I think I do.”

“Ha!” Dick laughed. “You don’t scare me, at least not now. You just made me a little nervous before, with the staring and all.”

“Well, who can blame me?” Bruce drawled, and Dick was taken aback at how gravelly and sexy his voice sounded now. “I’m sure you get that all the time. You’re gorgeous.”

“Um—”

“Oh, come on,” Bruce leaned forward once more, and his tone was still flirtatious, “You must know that, don’t be so modest. I never thought you’d be so good-looking.”

“Thank you, I—” Dick paused. “What do you mean, ‘thought you’d be so good-looking’?”

Bruce’s smile vanished, than reappeared just as quickly. “I meant, I never thought I’d meet someone so good-looking tonight. At Luca’s, of all places.” he started absentmindedly rubbing his thigh again, and Dick could see the fabric being stretched around huge muscles. When he glanced up, Bruce looked at him knowingly, but said nothing.

Dick glanced out the window quickly. From what he could see through the rain, which was falling heavier by the minute, they were almost to his house.

“Oh. Well, thanks,” Dick shifted even closer to Bruce, who _still_ hadn’t moved, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Bruce had another perplexing physical reaction to this statement: while his body became even more tense and unmoving, his face had one of the hungriest expressions that Dick had ever seen. The knowledge that one of the most powerful and attractive men in the world could look at him like _that_ was a very heady feeling indeed.

“Oh yeah?” Bruce asked, and his voice was low, dangerously low.

“But I mean, I’m _sure_ you get that all the time,” Dick parroted pack to him cheekily.

“Hmm. It sounds better when you say it,” Bruce growled, flexing his fingers on his right hand in an almost agitated way.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, and something was a little strange about the way Bruce was eyeing him, but Dick couldn’t figure out what. He watched those thick fingers flex, wondering how many women and men had been stared at the same way, had been touched with those hands. 

Bruce was, as expected, still staring at him, but now he seemed to be waiting for Dick to say something else. 

Before Dick could speak, however, the car stopped and parked. Disappointed, Dick peeked out the window, and through a sheet of rain he could see they were outside his house.

Bruce rolled down the partition. “Alfred, you can stay in the car. I’ll see him out.”

“Good idea, sir, but please take an umbrella,” Alfred replied, turning around in his seat. “It was very nice to meet you, Dick.”

“Nice to meet you too, Alfred,” Dick grinned as he scooped up his backpack. “Thank you so much for the ride!”

Bruce opened his side door and unfurled a huge black umbrella, and Dick followed him into the rain, closing the door quickly behind him.

“This is a nice place,” Bruce commented lightly as they stepped onto the curb, and Dick huddled close to him under the umbrella. Maybe a little too close, but so what? Bruce smelled great, he noticed: like sweat and whiskey and expensive, spicy cologne.

“It is,” Dick agreed, shifting his bag on his shoulder, “But probably not as nice as Wayne Manor, huh?”

Bruce turned his gaze on him again, a smile playing at his lips. “Wayne Manor has its charms. Unfortunately, I’m not there often enough to enjoy them.”

“You’re not?” Dick was confused. “Don’t you live there?”

“When I come back to Gotham, sure,” Bruce mused, looking back up at his house, “But I’m…not here all that much. I’m only home for a few days this time around.”

“Oh.” Dick tried not to sound too disappointed, but he failed miserably. He looked forlornly towards the stoop leading up to his front door. “So, I guess I’ll—”

He gave a start as Bruce’s free hand cupped his chin. “You’re upset with me.” Bruce turned Dick’s face gently, so they were looking at each other in the eye. 

“No! I…no.”

“You’re lying.” Bruce wasn’t smiling anymore; in fact, his mouth looked rather stern. His lustful gaze, however, spoke a completely different message. Dick felt his mouth go dry as Bruce started stroking his cheek, waiting for him to speak.

“I…I thought you might want to see me again?” Dick winced as his statement came out more like a pitiful question.

“Dick.” Bruce let out another sharp breath through his nose, and Dick felt his heart sink a little. Bruce looked away and mumbled something very quietly under his breath— _you don’t know what you’re doing,_ Dick thought he heard—and then looked back at him.

“Of course I do,” he sighed, “But you’re…you’re only eighteen.”

“So?” Dick snapped defiantly, and felt Bruce remove his hand, the look in his eyes more dangerous and seductive than ever. “Why would you offer me a ride if you didn’t…didn’t want to…”

“You have no _idea_ what I want to do to you.”

Dick felt his face heat up, but didn’t look away. “So what’s the problem, then?”

Bruce considered him for one long moment. Then he sighed again, reached into his coat pocket, and handed him a small card.

“Call me tomorrow,” he murmured, “If you’d still like to see me. We’ll…talk about it.”

Dick took the card, and flicked it around between his fingers. It was too dark to read. Bruce touched him lightly on the elbow and led him up to his front stoop.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then?” Dick asked, unsure. Bruce was behaving very oddly, even more so than he had all night.

Bruce just nodded, and Dick was more than a little surprised when he placed a soft, very chaste kiss on his forehead. _Like I’m his_ son, _or something._

“Sweet dreams,” Bruce whispered sexily, his eyes glinting, and Dick wondered why the man was sending so many mixed signals. _If you’re going to look at me like that, just kiss me for real,_ he wanted to scream.

Instead he said nothing and watched as the billionaire stepped down from the stoop and back into the rain. Bruce turned around and sent him one last wicked grin. “Promise me something?”

“What’s that?”

“No more wandering in alleys for you anymore, alright?” Bruce called. “It’s dangerous out there.”

Dick watched as the man retreated to the limo, which quickly pulled into the street and turned a corner. He quickly unlocked the door and stepped into the house, his head whirling and his heart beating out of his chest. The place where Bruce kissed him felt like it was burned into his skin.

_What a weird night._

He was halfway upstairs, about to check in with Barbara, before he realized with a stinging sense of regret: he had left Bruce’s coat in the car.

*

In the limo, Bruce’s head was in his hands, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

“That was most unwise, sir.” Alfred chided him sternly, and Bruce said nothing.

“You barely resisted him earlier, what on _earth_ were you thinking, inviting him into this car…you knew very well who his father is—”

“Not his father,” came Bruce’s muffled voice.

“He might as well be. You can’t risk everything for a joyride with some _boy_ who might not even be—”

“It’s different, Alfred,” Bruce’s voice was so pained that Alfred didn’t say anything. _”He’s_ different. I think it’s him, not me, I think he’s the one…controlling it.”

“But you don’t _know_ that, sir,” Alfred was desperate. “You don’t know how he’ll react, he has no idea. This could ruin you.”

“I know it’s him,” Bruce said, with finality. “He remembers me, too.”

“You’ll lose control. You came to close already,” Alfred looked in the rearview mirror pleadingly. “You don’t need this.”

Bruce looked back out the window, at the rain coming down in heavy sheets. He closed his eyes. Said nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Bruce...so conflicted! This chapter was a lot of fun to write! I know it's a lot of background info, but I think it's necessary. Hopefully it isn't too boring to read, but if it is, worry not: there are some very sexy scenes coming in the next chapter.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading and commenting (Seriously!) and as always, follow me on tumblr at moonintheknight.tumblr.com ! Next chapter will be up soon.


	4. Steam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's dreams might be a lot closer to reality than he thinks...

Dick gasped loudly as the man pressed up against his entrance, slick with pre-cum and very hard. Red eyes glinted down at him from a shadowy face, as if hidden in a fog, and a large hand stroked his flushed cheek.

"Tell me what you want," he growled, the voice so ragged with desire that Dick almost came.

"F-fuck me," Dick moaned, "Please, just fuck me."

The man's lips curled into a devilish smile, which only widened as he eased his cock into Dick's entrance and heard the noises he was making. Dick couldn't help it. The man was so big, and it was so warm and he was so full. He had never felt anything like it.

The man almost filled him completely before moving Dick's hands, which had been gripping the sheets, together above his head, pinning them there with one strong hand. He stopped moving into Dick and started nibbling and licking his ear, and Dick could head his heavy breathing.

_“Please,”_ Dick almost whined. He was so stretched it was painful, and he heard the man chuckle in his ear. "God. Please move."

On command, the man pulled out almost entirely and slammed back into him, and Dick cried out, and he heard the man laugh, and he started thrusting into him at a powerful, relentless pace.

"You like that, don't you?" the man hissed in his ear, his breath hot on his face, and _God_ it hurt, but felt so good. Dick nodded and the man rewarded him with kisses and nips on his jawbone, under his chin.

"You're such a good boy," the man murmured darkly, and as he sped up his thrusts he reached down with the hand that wasn't pinning Dick and stroked the younger man's cock, the red eyes gauging for a reaction.

_“A-ah!”_ Dick gasped. He couldn't speak now and it was too much; he felt like he was being drilled into and the man was hitting such a good, sweet spot inside him that it left Dick breathless.

"You look so good like this," the man purred, and he let go of Dick's hands and pulled his hips up and Dick was being fucked into the mattress, the man thrusting mercilessly. "So good."

Dick knew he sounded like he was sobbing at this point, but he was too far-gone to care. The man leaned down and licked his neck, and he was pushing into him with such fervor that it was bringing out almost animalistic grunts from him. Dick tilted his head back as the man hit that same spot over and over and _over._

"Pretty," the man murmured darkly between grunts, and licked and kissed his neck with increasing interest. With one hand holding Dick's hip, he ran the other through Dick's hair, scratching his scalp.

"I'm gonna--I'm gonna come," Dick gasped, and the man's shadowy face appeared above him very briefly. At first he thought he was going to be kissed, until the man gave a few more brutal thrusts and Dick started to come and he saw stars--

And the man, in one swooping motion, leaned in and bit him hard on the neck. And Dick screamed.

And opened his eyes.

For a moment, he didn't know where he was or what was going on. He sat up in his bed, panting and shaking and very much alone. His sheets were sticky with his own cum. _A dream,_  he thought to himself, _but it felt so **real.**_  A quick glance at his clock told him that it was almost time to get up, so he crawled out of bed wearily and ripped his soiled sheets off, vowing to wash them later.

He shuffled into the bathroom, discarding his boxers as he went, and turned on the shower as hot as it would go. As he waited for the water to heat up, he tried to savor the images of the shadowy, red-eyed, hulking man of his dreams who had fucked him like it was his job.

Dick was a virgin, and he naturally spent quite a lot of time thinking about sex, but usually it was in the more romantic vein: he never got caught up in too many of the mechanics or details, just the kissing and sighing and pleasure of it all. 

But this dream...it was rough and explicit and he could  _sense_ everything happening to his body. The man was almost violent with him, but to his surprise it was hot, and he liked it. He liked it a lot just dreaming about it. He wondered if he would like it for real.

Those eyes, though...Dick knew, of course, whose eyes those belonged to. He was more than a little concerned that he just had a wet dream about someone who resembled the Bat-Man.

He stared at himself in the mirror as the steam from the shower slowly started to fill the room. Everything about the dream had been so vivid except for the man's face. It was almost as if it didn't matter who he was; every time Dick had looked, all he had seen were those eyes and a face in shadow, or mist, or something.

Dick closed his eyes, trying to remember the exact sensation of the man's hops meeting his own (he ran a hand over his hips), his tongue circling his ear (brushed a finger across his left lobe)...his mouth biting his neck. Dick grazed his neck with his hand and was startled to find that it stung.

Dick looked up at his reflection and turned his head to the side. The mirror hadn't quite fogged up yet, and he could see a red mark, lighter than a hickey but still very much there, imprinted on his skin.

_How did I do that to myself?_ Dick thought, mightily confused. He hoped Jim wouldn't notice. He _really_  hoped Barbara wouldn't, because she would definitely call him out on it. But he wouldn't be lying when he said he didn't know how it got there. After all, it wasn't like Bruce Wayne had made a move last night.

As he climbed in the shower and reached for the soap, he thought about the billionaire, all contradictions and smoldering looks in a thousand-dollar suit. He didn't know why, but the man didn't at all intimidate Dick anymore. Maybe aspects about his life did, but Bruce Wayne himself just seemed like a handsome, charming, mysterious, and confusingly upstanding man. It was pretty attractive. 

Lathering shampoo into his hair, Dick thought more about the rough sex from his dream, and Bruce, and how badly he wanted to try that out with him. As conflicted as Bruce seemed to be, Dick was not deterred in the slightest.

The billionaire would definitely be getting a call that day, whether he liked it or not.

*

The call would have to wait, however; Dick spent far too long in the shower, so he had to scramble to get dressed and quickly wolfed down some toast before leaving for class with Barbara. It was only then that he realized he had forgotten to do a sociology assignment, so he did his homework on the subway while his sister laughed at him. Then he had to sit through two of his hardest classes, which both require fastidious note taking.

In fact, it was only as he was meeting Barbara for lunch at their favorite campus cafe (their Friday afternoon tradition) that he remembered with a jolt: _oh yeah, I really should give billionaire Bruce Wayne a call._

"What's up?" Barbara asked quizzically, interrupting his thoughts. "Is your sandwich bad? You're not eating."

"What? Oh, no it's fine!" Dick hastily took a bite of his turkey wrap. "I just have a lot on my mind. Two midterms next week, you know."

"Yeah, because being a college freshman is soooo difficult," Barbara teased. When Dick said nothing, she frowned. "Sorry! I mean if it really is going to be hard, I could definitely help you study or something."

"Nah," Dick shook his head. "I'll be okay." Suddenly the anticipation of calling Bruce and just getting it over with was overwhelming. He needed to know if the guy actually wanted to see him. He pushed away from the table.

"Do you mind if I call work real fast?" he asked Barbara as he backed away from the table. "I think I need to check if I'm on call for tonight." He knew he wasn't, but what else was he supposed to say?

"No problem," Barbara continued eating her soup and started checking her phone for messages, and Dick all but sprinted outside to call Bruce. He had put the number from the business card into his phone last night before bed, and as the phone rang he felt the familiar anxiety well up inside him. _What if he ignores me? What if this is the wrong time of day? What if I'm calling too soon, will I seem desperate—?_

"Dick Grayson."

The voice came out kind of scratchy and muffled, but it was definitely the same low, full tone that Dick recognized from last night.

"Hi, Bruce," Dick felt his face heat up by just casually  _saying_ those words, "I hope I'm not calling at a bad time..."

"Any time's good for you," Bruce rumbled, and though Dick couldn't see him, he could practically hear him grinning. "Been staying out of those alleys?"

Dick smiled. "Only sidewalks and street corners for me from now own. Promise." He listened to Bruce chuckle at that, and realized that the man really did sound exhausted. Maybe he had just woken up.

"Anyway, I was calling because...I thought about it, like you asked. And I still want to see you," he paused, "Badly."

_Shut up, idiot!_  Dick almost clamped a hand over his own mouth. What had possessed him to say that? Could he be any more uncool?!

But Bruce chuckled again. "I see. I can't say I'm disappointed in that decision," he yawned, an now Dick was convinced he had woken him up, "so I would love to see you too. When are you free tonight?"

_Tonight!_

Dick almost blurted out a "whenever" but stopped himself. "Anytime after...eight?" He would get home from class at six, so that would give him plenty of time to get ready and...lie to his family.

"Good. I'll send a car to come pick you up at nine thirty,” Bruce said formally, "we'll have drinks downtown. I have a great place in mind."

"Great! Okay, nine thirty, can't wait," Dick blabbed, a face-splitting grin forming on his face. He couldn't help it; he was going on a real live _date_ with Bruce Wayne! "What, um, should I wear?"

"Business casual," Bruce said quickly, then, after a short pause, "Or. Really, whatever you feel most comfortable in. It doesn't matter to me."

"Okay," Dick breathed. He scuffed the pavement with his sneaker, wondering exactly what to say next. "I'm...I'm glad you changed your mind. About seeing me, I mean."

He listened apprehensively as Bruce breathed into the phone for a moment. 

"It was never about what _I_ wanted to do, Dick," Bruce murmured finally, "I just didn't want you to feel any pressure. I know how I can be sometimes."

_’How you can be?’_ Dick didn't really know what that meant, but he also didn't want Bruce to travel back down the path of hesitance, so he didn't ask. 

"Oh yeah?" he replied brazenly. "Well I _know_ what I want to do, so you have nothing to worry about."

The noise that Bruce made was something between a hum and a growl, and it made Dick's heart beat just a little faster.

"Good to know," Bruce said in that sexy, gravelly voice, "Very good to know. Well, Dick Grayson, a car will be at your house at nine thirty. I'm looking forward to it."

"Me too. See you then, Bruce."

Bruce clicked off, and Dick smiled like an idiot, staring at his phone for a full five seconds. When he turned around, however, his grin vanished completely.

"So. Who is _Bruce?”_  Barbara asked, a hand on her hip.

*

“…And _when_ did you meet this Bruce guy? I mean, I know he’s Carla’s brother, but…”

“I told you,” Dick replied, adjusting his collar in the mirror, “Last night when he gave me a ride home. He’s really nice.”

Somehow, Dick had been able to think on his feet when Barbara had interrogated him about his phone call. At first he’d played coy, trying to deny that he’d been talking to some guy, but at last he’d “admitted” that Carla’s brother “Bruce” had asked him out on a date. It was a lie, of course. Carla’s brother Dave lived in Metropolis, and he obviously hadn’t given Dick a ride home last night. Still, Barbara definitely didn’t have to know that.

Now it was hours later, and the two were back at their house, Barbara magnanimously helping Dick prepare for his date. After much debate, she had helped him pick out an outfit: a crisp light blue button-down that flattered his tan skin and emphasized his eyes, along with flattering black dress pants and the only pair of nice shoes he owned. He had wondered allowed whether to wear a tie, but when Barbara asked how upscale the place, Dick honestly had to admit he didn’t know.

“You don’t know?” she asked incredulously. “I mean, how old is this guy anyway? How nice can this place be?”

“Um…I think he’s in his early twenties?” Dick guessed, messing with his hair. That was another lie; Bruce was at least in his mid-thirties.

“Leave your hair alone, it’s fine,” Barbara sighed, “I just wish you would’ve told me…then at least I could’ve _known_ why you were acting like such a freak today.”

“Sorry, Babs,” Dick said sheepishly, turning away from the mirror to look at her. “I just didn’t want you to be weirded out or…anything.”

Barbara shrugged. “I wouldn’t freak out. I know you like guys.”

“Jim doesn’t, though,” Dick smiled sincerely, “And you guys can be pretty protective.”

“And _you_ can be way too secretive, Dick,” Barbara admonished, before finally smiling back. “But can I just say that you look really good?”

“That’s the idea,” Dick laughed, “But thank you. And please don’t tell Jim where I’m going.”

“I won’t,” Barbara allowed, “But you should talk to him soon, Dick. About a lot of stuff.”

Dick just nodded as he checked his watch. It was almost nine thirty, and while usually he would be _starving_ at this point (he had forgotten to eat), he wasn’t hungry at all. His stomach was a knot of nerves, though he had tried to play it cool so far in front of Barbara. After all, it was just a date with “Carla’s Brother.” If he acted too erratic, she would probably suspect he wasn’t telling her something.

“Don’t let this man take advantage of you,” Barbara lectured him as Dick hurriedly searched in his backpack for his wallet. “No means no.”

“Jeez, Babs, I can take care of myself,” Dick scoffed. He was pretty athletic and nimble after growing up in the circus, but Bruce Wayne was huge compared to him. He thought distractedly about how Bruce’s pant leg had strained against his muscular thighs last night in the car. He wondered exactly how muscular the man was…

“What are you doing tonight?” Dick asked hurriedly, trying to distract himself from both his nerves and his thoughts. 

“Ah, probably just go to the bar with a few law school buddies,” Barbara shrugged. “Nothing crazy though, I have a lot to do in the morning. _Speaking_ of which,” she raised an eyebrow. “Where will you be sleeping tonight? What lie should I tell dad when he gets off his shift?”

“Oh,” Dick paused. He didn’t really know what was going to happen tonight, although he knew Bruce probably wanted _something_ out of him. “I…I guess I’m not sure. Just tell Jim I’ll be staying at Carla’s apartment—”

He was interrupted by a low buzz on his phone, and looked to see Bruce’s name flash upon his screen.

**Bruce:** Your ride’s here.

Dick swiveled around to look out his street-facing window, and sure enough, a black town car was sitting by the curb, waiting for him.

“That’s my cue!” Dick practically squeaked at Barbara, and ran to grab his jacket. Barbara looked out the window and followed him as he went to the front door. 

“Nice car,” Barbara mused as she watched Dick shrug on his coat.

“Yeah, I guess he went all out, huh?” Dick muttered, hoping she wouldn’t notice the flush rising in his cheeks. “So, I’ll text you when I figure out where I’m staying, okay?”

“Sure,” Barbara said, a skeptical look on her face. “Just be safe, okay? I mean it, Dick.”

“Yes, mom,” Dick rolled his eyes, but gave her a sincere smile. “Have fun tonight!”

As he walked out to the car, he felt the adrenaline run through his veins, his whole body tense at the prospect of being alone again in the car with Bruce. He wondered how long the ride would be, and maybe Bruce would actually make a move since they were on a date? 

He didn’t have to worry, however. The driver who got out of the car when he approached was not Alfred, and when he opened the door for Dick, he found the backseat empty. When Dick turned an inquisitive eye towards the driver, the man gave him a kind smile.

“Mr. Wayne will be meeting you there. Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Dick said as he slipped into the backseat, a little disappointed. “Let’s get going.” _Why didn’t he pick me up?_

The twenty minute ride downtown was uneventful. Dick tried to engage the driver in some small talk but the man was clearly focused on the road, so Dick looked out at the city lights and the new, modern buildings mixed with the old gothic architecture. As scary as it could be, Dick alway thought Gotham was pretty at night.

Finally the town car pulled up to a valet, and Dick looked up to see that they had arrived at the Hotel Kelley, one of the newest, most luxurious hotels in Gotham. 

The passenger door opened, and Dick stepped out, feeling a bit apprehensive. “I thought you said we were going to a restaurant?”

“Mr. Wayne is expecting you in the lounge on the rooftop floor, Mr. Grayson,” the driver informed him, tipping his cap and turned towards his car. 

“Oh, wait! Do you need money, or…” Dick’s question died on his lips as the driver started to grin. 

“No sir, Mr. Wayne has it taken care of. Have a good night, sir.”

_Right. Of course. Remember where you are._

Dick walked into The Kelley and instantly was awed. The somewhat-crowded lobby was sleek and modern, decorated in minimalist black and white. What looked like Jackson Pollack and other famous expressionist artwork adorned the walls, and Dick couldn’t help but stare a little as he walked through the lobby. ‘This way to Steam - Rooftop Bar’ a sign read, pointing towards a bank of elevators, and before he knew it Dick was zooming up towards the top floor.

He instantly walked into a very contemporary low-lit, crowded bar area, all done in black, white, and navy. To his right were private tables, banquettes, and what looked like a VIP area. Two his left, through huge glass doors, was a rooftop pool with heat lamps, tables and cabanas, though not many people were there.

For Dick, it was all a little overwhelmingly posh. He didn’t drink too much, but when he did it was usually at a college dive bar or his neighborhood watering hole. He was fascinated by what lay around him, but a little out of his element.

Dick was unsure on whether he should wait at the bar or if he should ask the maitre d’ about a possible table reservation, but what would he say? _I’m meeting my date Bruce Wayne here?_ He was so caught up in his indecision that he didn’t hear the slight hush that came over the crowd at the bar, nor the louder buzzing that came immediately after.

He was almost to the maitre’d stand when a hand touched his lower back. “In a hurry?” a low voice asked.

Dick whirled around to come, of course, face to face with Bruce Wayne. All he could see were those gorgeous blue eyes that shone with an amused twinkle. He felt himself instantly relax; simply _seeing_ the man calmed him down.

Dick heard himself laugh. “Yeah, I have this hot date tonight I think I’m kind of late for.”

“You and me both,” Bruce smirked, and leaned down and gave Dick a lingering kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come get you. I was running a little behind schedule.You look great.”

“Thank you,” Dick beamed up at him, his cheek feeling like it was burning from Bruce’s lips. _Just one kiss and he makes me feel like_ that, Dick thought. “So do you.”

And he did look incredibly good. 

Bruce had dressed casually—at least, more casually than last night—as well. He wore a simple yet very expensive looking outfit of a black sweater, pants, and shoes, and the Rolex on his wrist probably cost twice as much as everything Dick owned. This more laid-back look made him look very enticing.

He wasn’t the only one who thought so. Over Bruce’s shoulder, Dick could see plenty of women and some men at the bar who looked enamored with Bruce simply on sight. _Can’t blame em._

“Shall we sit down?” Bruce asked. “I don’t come here often, but I think you’ll like it. I should have a table reserved in the back…” He guided Dick over to the maitre’d, who immediately greeted them and quickly led them to the VIP section. Bruce’s hand was still on the small of Dick’s back, and he noticed some of the looks from the women watching had turned from excitement to jealousy. Dick smiled to himself, pleased.

Their host took them up a short set of stairs into the VIP area, which had breathtaking floor-to-ceiling windows on it’s far side. They were led to a very secluded banquette, and despite the straining necks of other VIP patrons, they were almost entirely out of sight, with a fantastic view of the Gotham skyline.

“Wow,” Dick breathed as they slid into their seats. For merely going out for “drinks,” Bruce had outdone himself.

“What drinks would you like to start off with, Mr. Wayne?” their waiter asked, completely deferring to Bruce. Again, Dick couldn’t really blame him. 

“Do you still have the 2008 bordeaux I had last time? I can’t quite remember the name…”

“The Château Pétrus? Certainly, sir.”

“Then we’ll have a bottle of that, and,” Bruce looked quickly over to Dick, who looked very lost, “Sorry. Is wine okay with you? Would you like anything else?”

“Uh,” Dick glanced down quickly at the appetizer menu. He hadn’t been able to eat much dinner because of nerves, and he was starving now. “The cheese platter looked good…”

He could almost feel Bruce grin beside him. “We’ll have an order of the fruit and cheese platter as well. You can put it on my tab.”

The waiter practically bowed as he scuttled off to retrieve their order, and Dick turned to him quizzically. “I thought you said you don’t usually come here.”

“I don’t,” Bruce leaned back on the bench, and Dick realized right away how different this was from their car ride last night. Bruce was sitting very close to him.

“Oh, well you said you had a tab…and the waiter remembered the wine you liked, so…”

“I was here a few years back,” Bruce shrugged. “They just remembered, I suppose.”

_Woah._ Dick figured he shouldn’t be surprised by that, but he was all the same.

“Well, you should come here more often,” Dick enthused, tearing his gaze away from Bruce’s piercing eyes. “This view is incredible.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Bruce breathed. Dick suddenly noticed Bruce had done the _thing_ again, where he got closer to Dick without him noticing. Now his arm was draped over the top of the bench, his body only inches from Dick’s own. There weren’t any mixed signals tonight, clearly.

“Yeah,” Dick replied stupidly, once again locked in that gaze, but something about it was different tonight. It was like Bruce wasn’t holding back, like he was actually fully _interested_ in him. Dick could practically drown in the blue of those eyes…

“So tell me,” Bruce said, his voice a little lower, “What’s a day in the life of Dick Grayson?”

“Seriously? Not that interesting,” Dick laughed lightly, “You know how it is, right? Work, school, all that—well, I didn’t have work today, thankfully—”

“School!” Bruce grinned widely. “I forgot…I always forget how young you are. You don’t seem that young to me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure I showed my age with the wine order, too,” Dick joked, but something wasn’t right there. If Bruce didn’t see him as young, then what had been his reluctance last night?

“Hm,” Dick could feel Bruce’s hand stroke his shoulder lightly, “You played it well, but I apologize for ordering for you. It’s a habit.”

“It’s fine!” Dick had never had anyone order for him before. Quite frankly, Bruce could do whatever he wanted at this point and Dick probably wouldn’t complain. “But I gotta be honest: red wine all tastes the same to me.”

“Is that so?” The Look again. Dick practically shivered.

“Yeah. I’m uncultured.”

“Maybe I could teach you.” The tone of his voice was a little more ragged, and this time Dick really did shiver. He couldn’t help but survey the man’s face a little greedily: that pale, luminous skin, the sharp features, his strong jaw, the touchable hair. And of course, the gorgeous eyes.

“You can teach me,” Dick responded quietly, obviously not talking about the wine or culture, and those beautiful features grew even sharper with the smile that Bruce gave him. 

“Have a taste, then,” Bruce gestured lazily towards the table, and to Dick’s surprise the waiter had poured their wine and served the cheese platter all without him noticing. _When did that happen?_ Dick completely lost track of his surroundings whenever he so much as _looked_ at Bruce.

Bruce took a swirled his glass and took a sip of his wine, and Dick copied him. “Not bad,” he said after a moment, and Bruce gave him a pleased smile and set his glass down. 

“Now, I know about the police commissioner father and the older sister…who else is in your life? Friends?” he paused. “Girlfriends? Boyfriends?”

“No!” Dick blurted, setting down his glass. “No. I’m single. Obviously."

“Good,” Bruce looked at him over his glass. “And you never know, you’d be surprised. But I have to ask,” he broke eye contact once to scan the room, as if he needed to think on how to phrase the question. “How many…have you had? In the past?”

“Oh,” Dick thought for a moment. He had girlfriends in his early high school days before he’d figured out that girls were not really his thing, but he didn’t think that was what Bruce was really asking. “No. I mean, none.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Bruce was now stroking the back of his neck. “Just look at you.”

From anyone else it might have sounded unbearably lame. From Bruce Wayne, however, with his low voice and direct gaze and wandering hand, it made Dick feel like he was floating.

"Really?” Dick tried to be cool, but it was hard. This was some heady shit Bruce was saying.

“I mean it,” Bruce surveyed Dick as he popped a few grapes into his mouth. “No one could take their eyes off you when you walked in.”

“Oh, come on,” Dick held a grape between his teeth before he bit down, and was delighted in seeing Bruce’s gaze move directly to his mouth. “You’re Bruce Wayne! They were all looking at you, not me.”

“I was a little jealous.”

“Stop,” Dick replied teasingly, rolling his eyes, until he saw Bruce with The Look again, his face closer than ever.

“You have no idea, do you?”

“…What?” Dick replied softly, a little taken aback. That gruff, sexy, deep tone was back, and Bruce wasn’t smiling now, and he was drawing him in closer, and—

Bruce was kissing him.

It wasn’t what he expected. He didn’t think Bruce’s lips would be so soft, or feel so cool on his, but they were. The stubble on Bruce’s chin scratched his face, and he tasted like red wine, with an undertone of something sweeter, something absolutely delicious. They broke apart once, briefly, and came back together right away, Bruce drawing him in so close that Dick was almost on his lap. Dick still felt like Bruce was holding back somewhat, but he couldn’t deny that he’d never been kissed like this before.

It wasn’t what he expected. It was better.

“You have no idea,” Bruce said a bit breathlessly when they broke apart agin, “what you do to me.” 

Dick’s lips burned and he licked them, staring at Bruce’s lips in turn. He would do anything to make Bruce kiss him like that again, and he was losing his composure quickly. Hell, he was fighting the urge to hop right into Bruce’s _lap._

“More?” Bruce asked, and if Dick had been paying attention he would’ve noticed the look Bruce was giving him, like a predator watching his prey. 

Dick could only nod, and this time the kiss Bruce gave him was powerful, almost forceful, and practically had Dick moaning in his mouth. Dick could feel himself run his hands through Bruce’s hair, and Bruce slid a hand lower on Dick’s back. It felt so _good_ to be kissed like this, to be touched like this, and for a moment Dick forgot everything, save for one fact: he needed more of Bruce, and he needed him now. 

“You taste so good,” Dick practically groaned as Bruce broke apart from him. If Dick had a grip on himself he would be embarrassed at how drugged he sounded, but he didn’t care anymore. 

“So do you.” Bruce ran his thumb over Dick’s lips as he took another sip of his wine. He looked over Dick thoughtfully, who was practically leaning into him at this point. “What did you do to your neck?” 

For one wild moment Dick flashed back to his dream, where the vampire-like man leaned down and bit his neck. But, no, that mark had faded throughout the day…Bruce must be talking about his scar. 

“The, uh, the Bat-Man did it,” Dick murmured, raising a hand to touch the scar, but when Bruce furrowed his brow Dick realized he was wrong. “No, wait, sorry. That night, when…I was saved, the guy who attacked me cut me with a knife.” he left out the part about the Bat-Man licking it. He found out as a kid that was a pretty unbelievable part of the story to tell. 

“I see,” Bruce was surveying him again over his wineglass, and did his pupils look a little more dilated? Dick wasn’t sure. “I’m so sorry that man hurt you.” 

“Me too,” Dick popped a piece of cheese in his mouth, memories of that night flooding in again. He looked down at his plate, and Bruce turned his face back up towards him again. 

“He won’t hurt you anymore,” Bruce growled, and Dick felt his dark thoughts flee him, “I won’t let them. No one can touch you.” 

Dick felt himself grow warm from the inside out, and this time Bruce _crushed_ his mouth to his, his tongue immediately parting Dick’s lips. That sweet, heady taste was now more abundant than ever, and Dick couldn’t get enough, and now he really _did_ moan into his mouth. Dick felt like he was floating, or falling, he couldn’t figure out which. He had never been kissed so well in all his life. 

Bruce practically had to wrench himself away, and Dick could see that his eyes were much darker. He was breathing hard. 

“I want you,” he said in that husky, labored tone, and Dick practically melted. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Dick asked, and Bruce stared at him for a moment until a smile came across his lips. 

_“Yes.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dick better be careful! What do you guys think is going to happen next?!
> 
> Sorry this one came out so late! Computer troubles are the worst. The next chapter _should_ be out much faster, but hey, you never know with me!
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments, as well! I was so overwhelmed with how much you all like this story, and your comments really help me stay motivated! I love you all!
> 
> Keep your eyes peeled for the next chapter, and follow me at moonintheknight.tumblr.com !


	5. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Bruce drive towards disaster.

Dick was barely aware of the world zooming by as they cruised down the street in Bruce’s car. All he could focus on was the man’s soothing, increasingly sultry voice and the large hand stroking the back of his neck.

Bruce was looking at him expectantly, like he was waiting for Dick to say something, and he flushed embarrassedly.

“I…I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asked apologetically, and Bruce chuckled.

“I asked if you liked the car,” Bruce drawled, his gaze on Dick’s face unyielding. His thumb was pressed lightly to the side of Dick’s neck while his pointer finger stroked slowly, almost teasingly, up and down. It was making it very hard for Dick to focus.

“Oh! Yeah, it’s awesome,” Dick replied sheepishly. The car Bruce was driving was very cool—a two-seater sleek black Ferrari with leather interiors and an intricate-looking dashboard. The tinted windows and jazz that Bruce was playing softly only added to the dark, sexy atmosphere in the car. Accompanied with the looks Bruce was casting his way and the hand on his neck, Dick could barely form a coherent sentence.

“Well, that’s one word for it,” Bruce smiled, and turned his eyes briefly back on the road. It was slightly alarming how little Bruce was actually paying attention to the traffic around him, but he was a masterful driver. Dick kept looking at Bruce’s lone hand curved on the wheel, and for whatever reason it struck him as extremely masculine and sexy.

“Where’s Alfred?” Dick blurted suddenly. “Doesn’t he usually drive you around?”

Bruce shifted his eyes quickly back to him. 

“I _can_ drive myself, you know,” Bruce said, sounding little affronted, “And Alfred doesn’t…he’s not very conducive to a nice time with a date.”

Dick inexplicably felt himself glow a little at the word _date_. Obviously, he was Bruce Wayne’s date, he had just made out with him in a bar that Bruce invited him to, but it still felt ridiculously good to hear it.

“So are you?” Bruce asked.

“Am I what?” Had he missed what he said _again?_

“Are you having a nice time?”

“Yeah,” Dick beamed at him. “Yeah, I really am.”

“Good,” Bruce breathed, and as they rolled up to a light Bruce suddenly pulled Dick in and kissed him. 

Really, _really_ kissed him.

It was nothing like their relatively chaste kisses in Steam; this one was open-mouthed and hot and sloppy but so full of desire and _need_ that Dick couldn’t get enough. He ran his hands greedily through Bruce’s hair, and he felt Bruce’s breathing hitch as he pulled him close as their seats would allow. 

Bruce tasted so damn good.

Vaguely he heard a honking of a horn behind him, and as Bruce broke the kiss he brought his lips up to Dick’s ear.

“Stay with me tonight,” Bruce whispered hotly, and Dick could feel himself becoming greatly aroused, “Please.”

“Of course,” Dick murmured in what he hoped was a somewhat alluring tone. Bruce grinned and kissed him again, until the car behind them started continuously laying on the horn. 

Bruce shot the car ahead, going much faster than before, and Dick realized that they were entering the highway to head out of Gotham City proper.

“Are we…going to your house?” Dick asked, a little punch-drunk. It sounded like a stupid question to his own ears, but he figured Bruce would just get a hotel room or something. Besides, his arousal had grown the point where he was getting seriously uncomfortable in his somewhat restrictive pants, and he really, really wanted to get out of them soon.

“Yes,” Bruce replied simply, and his free hand traveled to Dick’s neck again, stroking his thumb on his pulse point. “More privacy.”

“All right,” Dick nodded, though he didn’t see how a hotel suite wasn’t private enough. He was surprised at himself; he always thought he would be nervous before he slept with someone, but he wasn’t at all. Right now he was just overwhelmingly attracted the man next to him. 

“How much longer will it take to get there?” Dick asked slowly, turning his head to look out the window. They were passing over a bridge leading to the outskirts of Gotham.

“Not too long,” Bruce’s voice was still deep and seductive, but also…amused? “You’re impatient.” he said it like a fact, not a question.

Dick grinned. Though he knew he _probably_ shouldn’t distract the driver of a car gunning it down the highway at around 100 miles per hour, he impulsively leaned in and caught Bruce’s lips for another hungry kiss.

Bruce let out a very soft groan as their mouths met, a noise that made heat pool rapidly in Dick’s groin and had him almost scrambling into the older man’s lap. These kisses were like drugs to him; each one had him thinking _I need more, I need more, I need more._

His entire body was pressed into Bruce’s side, and as they breathlessly broke apart Dick realized that Bruce could probably feel his erection. He also realized that he didn’t care.

“Patience,” Bruce practically gasped, and Dick could see that he was gripping the wheel very tightly. He didn’t seem to be looking at the road at all anymore, but he was still driving assuredly, albeit very fast.

“Why?” Dick asked teasingly, hoping he didn’t sound like he was whining. He needed to taste those lips again, wanted so badly to climb into the lap of the hard body next to him…

He realized he was staring at Bruce’s lap, and that Bruce had noticed. He looked up to meet his gaze—were those eyes always quite so dark?—and the billionaire was wearing an expression of badly restrained desire, the lust practically seeping out of his pores.

“We. Need to get home first,” Bruce growled, but even as he said it, his hand trailed slowly from Dick’s neck down to his leg, to his inner thigh, and started rubbing slowly. Dick felt his eyelids lower to half mast and looked up at Bruce almost dreamily. _God_ that felt good.

“Why?” Dick murmured lazily. “Why not now?” 

Bruce jerked his head so hard in his direction that Dick was worried he might hurt himself. Whatever mask Bruce had been wearing was broken; the greedy, almost predatory lust was written all over his face. He squeezed Dick’s thigh.

“I’m don’t…we need privacy,” Bruce practically whispered.

“Yeah, and we’re alone,” Dick said softly, and moved his hand to rest on Bruce’s, and _where did this confidence come from?_ “I want you.”

Dick almost yelped as Bruce decelerated abruptly and peeled off the highway onto a country road exit. They were barely on the quiet road for a minute before Bruce pulled over. He was breathing pretty hard, Dick noticed, but his breath wasn’t coming out too evenly either. Bruce looked almost tortured as he ran a hand through his hair and stared at the window into the darkness.

Dick leaned into him but stopped short. What was Bruce waiting for? He was right here, he was practically _begging_ for it—

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Bruce’s voice came almost raggedly, and he still kept his eyes straight ahead.

“What? You won’t,” Dick said, but he sounded confused to his own ears. He didn’t like this contradictory act Bruce had been pulling since he met him. The man had clearly, obviously been interested in him since the moment they met, but it was like he would stop himself from really acting at the last minute. Like he was afraid to dive in, to let go.

Maybe he needed one last push.

“You won’t,” Dick repeated more assuredly, and he leaned in and kissed Bruce’s cheek. _Come on, Bruce._ “Don’t worry,” he breathed, and kissed him on the corner of his lip, and heard Bruce’s breathing hitch. _That’s right_ He leaned in and placed his lips on Bruce’s neck, breathing in that irresistible sent again. He moaned a little and sucked lightly.

That was the tipping point.

Bruce literally wrenched Dick from his seat and crushed their lips together, positioning Dick on his lap to straddle him. The strength and speed of the movement surprised Dick for a moment, but soon he was kissing Bruce back with unbridled fervor, their tongues battling for dominance. Bruce felt muscular and strong and _huge_ underneath him, and Dick could feel his erection grinding against his.

_Holy shit._

Bruce had pushed back and reclined the seat as far as it would allow and was letting Dick press him into it. He ran his large hands down Dick’s back and over the swell of his ass, squeezing at first tentatively, then greedily. Dick, for his part, could not get enough of Bruce’s body, his smell, his _taste._ He imagined he must sound ludicrously horny with the amount he was moaning and sighing at Bruce’s touches.

“God,” Bruce hissed into his ear, and he was undoing some of Dick’s top buttons now, “You look so good like this.”

Dick ran his hand underneath the man’s sweater to feel the hard abs underneath. His skin felt cool to the touch, which was somewhat surprising. _You look so good like this._ Had he heard that before…? He looked into Bruce’s pitch-black eyes, and felt his heart clench. Bruce was looking up adoringly at him, his hair rumpled and lips red and swollen from kissing.

“You’re gorgeous,” Dick breathed, and Bruce’s face practically lit up, “You really are.”

In response, Bruce practically tore of Dick’s shirt and tossed it into the seat next to them and started to kiss his collarbone and clavicle, one hand playing with a nipple. Dick let out a gasping _”Oh!”_ as Bruce undid his belt and rubbed him roughly through his jeans. The angle was a little awkward, but somehow Bruce held him so it would work.

“I didn’t know,” Bruce was mumbling into his neck now, and now his hand was _in_ his boxers, and Dick was more than a little worried about his staying power at this point, “I didn’t think it would be like this…”

Dick was too far gone to focus too much on what Bruce was saying, and the hand on his nipple moved to the back of his neck to grab it firmly. All Dick could focus on was the pressure on his cock, how good it felt, how much he needed more. He started almost desperately thrusting into Bruce’s hand.

As Bruce started kissing his neck very lightly (wow, that felt _good_ ), Dick felt like maybe he should be doing more giving instead of taking. He reached out deliriously towards Bruce’s obvious erection, but Bruce almost violently shoved his hand away.

“No,” Bruce said growled against his neck. “You first.” The pitch of his voice, so low and seductive, made Dick give a little gasping cry. Bruce’s stroke and his thrusts were becoming rougher, faster, and he knew it was only a matter of time.

“Come for me, baby,” Bruce growled, and Dick moaned as Bruce kissed his neck, right where his scar was. “Please, Dick. I want to watch you come.”

Dick cried out as Bruce _sucked_ on that mark, and he felt himself come all over Bruce’s hand, and Bruce’s dark voice was murmuring to him and Dick pressed his sweaty forehead against Bruce’s cool one.

Dick sat like that, panting for a moment, and then leaned back and smiled down at Bruce, who was looking up at him with another unreadable expression. Did his face look a little different…?

“That was…” Dick panted happily, “That was amazing…”

“Mm,” Bruce brought his hand up to his mouth, which Dick was a little embarrassed to see was still covered in his cum, and (Dick felt his cheeks heat up at this) started to _lick_ it off a few fingers, then stuck two fingers against Dick’s lips. “Taste.”

Dick obediently started to lick and suck his own taste of Bruce’s fingers, first with trepidation and then eagerly. It didn’t taste bad, just a little weird. Bruce watched him unblinkingly, a strange little smile on his face.

“Good boy,” Bruce whispered when he was done. Dick furrowed his brow—hadn’t Bruce already said that?—but before he could think on it too much, Bruce brought him back in for another bruising kiss, and Dick was once again lost in the taste of Bruce, and now the taste of himself.

“Now you,” Dick said as they stopped, and he felt his heart race a little faster, almost as if he was nervous. Bruce still had his hand around his neck, and it tightened somewhat. He ran his thumb over Dick’s scar.

“Now me,” Bruce agreed, very quietly, and he was just staring at him, rubbing that mark, and Dick felt himself start to get weirdly uncomfortable. Bruce wasn’t looking at him with that adoring look anymore. It looked…

“Um, Bruce,” Dick said suddenly, “Your eyes…” because he was thinking a little clearer now, and no, those amazing eyes were definitely blue before, they weren’t that dark, and why was he looking at him like _that_ …?

“I’m sorry,” Bruce growled, and he was nuzzling him now, and it felt so good, and Dick’s brain was now screaming at him _Something’s WRONG_ but for whatever reason his body was having the opposite reaction, he could feel himself start to get hard again. “I didn’t want it to be this soon. But I have to.”

“What—”

_**BANG.** _

Many things happened at once, and Dick wasn’t able to process much.

Something, that neither he or Bruce had noticed coming, had slammed, HARD, into the drivers-side of the Ferrari. It came with such force that it flipped the car, and Dick heard himself scream alongside the crunching of metal, felt himself spin and cut himself on glass, felt himself fall, was waiting for the impact of steel or the ground or any kind of serious, blinding pain—

But it never came.

He felt, after a moment, that he had come to a stop, that his world had stopped spinning, and he dared to open an eye. He was in Bruce’s arms—somehow the man had gotten them out of the car, which was in a mangled twist on the side of the road. Though clearly disheveled, Bruce didn’t look like he had any serious injuries. In fact, his appearance was fine. It was his eyes, focused at something behind Dick, that were extremely unsettling.

His eyes were large, angry, and very dark. But mostly, they were _scared_. 

Dick could feel himself shaking, could hear himself start to babble and ask questions in an almost hysterical way, but the vice-like grip on his bare arm silenced him. And then another voice, deep and powerful, spoke.

_“What an interesting state I find you in, Bruce Wayne.”_

And as Dick slowly turned around, it dawned on him that they hadn’t been hit by a car or a truck. They had been hit by a living _thing._ Just by the voice alone, Dick knew what had hit them. 

He heard himself gasp loudly and dig his nails into Bruce’s arm all the same as saw the enormous winged Bat-Man looming in front of them, huge fangs bared and lips twisted into a deadly-looking grin.

“You!” Dick cried out, and felt Bruce’s hands grip onto him protectively, “It’s…you…”

But as he looked closer, he realized that this was not _his_ Bat. His Bat-Man was black in color, where this one was a grayish-brown, smaller and thinner, but still standing at an impressive height. He could see bloodstains on its fur and under its talons, and that _grin_ …no, this wasn’t the Bat-Man at all. 

And how did he know Bruce’s name?

“No,” Dick said very quietly, almost to himself. “Who are you?”

“Dick,” Bruce breathed into his ear, his arms still wrapped around him, “You need to—”

 _“I thought you didn’t have any playthings,”_ the beast stepped closer, and Dick felt the adrenaline pumping in his veins. _“Clearly I was wrong…this one is a beautiful specimen.”_ he took a long, exaggerated sniff of the air. _“But you haven’t had him yet, have you? Hopefully I didn’t hurt him to badly…wouldn’t want him to spoil…”_

“Bruce?” Dick croaked as the creature advanced, and now Bruce was getting up, pulling Dick with him. Dick didn’t know if it was his intense fright or if he was injured, but he could barely stand.

“I told you,” Bruce said darkly to the beast, and now his voice was rougher than ever, “To stay out of Gotham. None of you are allowed here.”

 _“And I listened,”_ the bat snarled, _“Until you became weaker and Gotham started to smell_ so _good…the souls here must taste_ **delightful.”**

“Dick,” Bruce’s rough voice came from behind him, “You need to run. Go towards the forest, and run—”

“But—but what about you—?”

 _“Once I kill you, Bruce Wayne,”_ the creature growled, advancing with increasing speed, _”Maybe I’ll have some fun with him before I suck him dry—”_

“Go!” Bruce shoved Dick towards the looming trees on their right. “Run **now!”**

As Dick stumbled, then started to sprint towards the forest with his heart in his throat, he turned back one last time towards Bruce, who was looking back at him. And Dick saw something that made him almost stop breathing.

Bruce’s eyes were no longer blue, or even black. Out of the gloom, Dick could see that they had turned piercingly, violently red.

Dick felt a horrified sob bubble up in his throat, and held it back as he ran into the forest, branches whipping at his bare torso and the skin on his face. Too much had happened in the past five minutes for him to even begin to process it, but as he ran further and stumbled and occasionally fell, he couldn’t stop his mind from racing.

_Why is that Bat after Bruce?_

_Why was Bruce looking at me like that in the car?_

_Why did he apologize?_

_How do they know each other?_

_Something's wrong._

_Was Bruce saying things from my dream?_

_Something's **wrong.**_

_His eyes were red…_

And as Dick tripped and finally fell for the last time, under the cover of a huge oak tree, he knelt in the dirt and started to shake. It was so dark and eerily quiet, and the sound of himself gasping for breath seemed impossibly loud. He was just starting to feel the all the cuts and bruises from the crash and his run, but he couldn’t tell if it was serious. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to do.

There was a reason Bruce had seemed so familiar. There was a reason he acted so strange. There was a reason he looked at him like he was prey. And Dick, who had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from crying, suddenly knew why. It all made sense.

Bruce was the Bat-Man. Bruce was a vampire.

Dick patted his pockets for his phone. He needed to get out of here or he was going to die, and he knew it. He didn’t know why he felt so utterly _betrayed_ —of _course_ Bat-Man was bad, of _course_ Bruce only had his worst interests at heart. But why had he protected him? And why did Dick feel so safe with him?

After a thorough search Dick realized that his phone was gone, either lost in the woods or crushed back in the car. So he slumped against the tree, trying to stay calm, trying to decide what to do. He was dangerously close to breaking down and sobbing. Should he run further? Should he go back towards the road? Should he wait here?

He closed his eyes and tried to think. This was eerily, terrifyingly similar to the last time he had met the Bat-Man. Hiding in a dirty place in the dark, waiting to be found. Waiting to be killed. Dick hugged his knees to his chest and saw that his pant leg had been torn open, a large amount of blood pooling there.

He stayed like that for a long time, shivering, attempting to come up with a plan that would save his life. He considered walking back and trying to find the highway when he heard a loud crash through the silent wood, and a distant rumbling.

_No!_

Dick panicked, standing up as quickly as he could, and looked around. There was no where to run that gave him more cover than this tree. He looked up, and saw that the branches still had plenty of leaves, and without hesitation he started to climb. He needed to stay out of sight. He wasn’t an acrobat anymore, but Dick was certainly still as agile and nimble as ever, and he climbed as high as he could. Whatever was coming at him through the trees was dangerously close now, and Dick stopped moving, perched on a high branch. Waiting.

Slowly, through the darkness, a huge winged beast came into view, though Dick was at such an angle that he couldn’t see which bat it was. _Not that either of them are good,_ he reminded himself.

The creature stilled as it stalked through the trees, and Dick could see that one of it’s wings was torn, and it had a slight limp. It slowed to a halt near the oak, turning it’s head slowly. Dick felt his heart beat out of his chest, and had to cover his mouth to keep from breathing too loudly.

Suddenly the creature’s face turned directly toward him, and Dick could see the brilliant red of his eyes. Without even seeing the rest of his body Dick knew it was Bruce. _His_ Bat-Man.

 _“…Dick?”_ came that voice, low and powerful and rumbling and he _knew that voice._ He felt a familial pang in his chest that he fought down. Don’t respond. Don’t answer.

 _“I know you’re there, Dick,”_ Bruce—the Bat-Man—growled, moving closer towards the tree. _“I hear you and I can smell you.”_

Dick said nothing but bit down hard on his lip. _ShitfuckshitfuckshitFUCK…_

_“I won’t hurt you.”_

“LIAR!” Dick yelled so loud that the Bat-Man gave a little start. He even surprised himself, but he couldn’t stop.“You _fucking liar!”_

The Bat-Man said nothing, and Dick watched him just stand beneath the tree. He wasn’t looking in Dick’s direction anymore, however; he was looking down at the ground.

“This whole fucking time,” Dick started, and he was trembling so hard that his voice was shaking too, “You wanted to…you tried to _kill me.”_

 _“No,”_ Bat-Man growled, _“I never—”_

“You did!” Dick cried. “In the car! I know you were…going to…I know what you were doing now. You knew who I was the minute you saw me and you didn’t bother to tell me!”

 _“Dick,”_ Bat-Man said, and voice had a pronounced weariness to it now, _“I will not hurt you. You’re injured, and you need to come down—”_

“Come down?!” Dick said shrilly, and he knew he was starting to sound somewhat hysterical but he no longer cared. “Come down so you can kill me faster? Is that what you want?” he took a heaving breath. “Where is he? The other monster?”

The Bat-Man noticeably flinched at the word monster, but turned his head back up towards Dick nonetheless. _”Dead.”_

Dick stared at those red eyes for a few moments, then looked away. He couldn’t believe this. He never wanted to believe the thing who saved him, the Bat-Man, was a killer, but there it obviously was, laid out in front of him. 

“I trusted you,” he said finally, quietly, and the Bat-Man moved again beneath him. “I _trusted_ you. Bruce Wayne and the Bat-Man. You saved me…” and Dick, mortifyingly, could hear his voice crack with tears. “I defended you all these years…and…you try and _kill_ me.”

_“You’re wrong.”_

Bat-Man moved a little closer to the tree and put one huge hand on it. Dick shrank back into the branches as he started to speak.

 _“I would never purposefully try and hurt you, Dick Grayson,”_ he rumbled slowly. _“Never. But you don’t understand the effect you have on me.”_

“That’s not an _excuse!”_ Dick yelled, and now he felt a tear roll down his cheek. “I almost died tonight, and it was because you didn’t bother to tell me who you were!”

 _“And if I had?”_ that low voice was steady with conviction. _”What would you have done then?”_

“I don’t know,” Dick choked, “But I would have still trusted you.” He looked up at the sky, cloudy and dark, and didn’t look back down towards Bat-Man. He was still shaking, from fear and pain and chill, but also from the outpouring of emotion. Because as terrified as he still was, he was a lot angrier.

The Bat-Man said nothing for a few minutes. He stood unmoving at the base of the tree, looking up at Dick, though the younger man couldn’t see that. 

_“I’m not leaving you here,”_ he said finally. _“I can take you back home, if you’d like, but you need to be cleaned up.”_

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Dick whimpered pathetically from his branch. He knew he sounded like a baby.

 _“You…don’t have to see me again,”_ Bat-Man rumbled. Did he sound a little upset? _“That I promise. But I can’t leave you alone.”_

To Dick’s surprise, the Bat-Man didn’t fly up and get him. Instead he knelt stoically at the base of the tree.

 _“When you’re ready,”_ he growled, _“We can leave. I’ll wait here.”_

For a long time they sat, Dick perched, shivering, in the tree and Bruce—Bat-Man—at its base. Dick watched him with some trepidation. He certainly didn’t _seem_ to be acting aggressively towards him. _But you should know better,_ Dick told himself. _He was going to…bite you. He was going to try and kill you. He stalked you and manipulated you and **preyed** on you…_

But as he examined the Bat-Man, hunched beneath the tree, he couldn’t help feel that pang of compassion, of recognition. This was the same man who had saved his life all those years ago, who had defended him against whatever that other creature was. He was sweet to him. He made him feel so safe. 

Dick felt himself lean forward, start to climb down the branches that he had scrambled up earlier. Bat-Man might not be trustworthy, but he was his only way out of here, and he’d have to bite the bullet sometime—

Uncharacteristically, Dick took a misstep on a branch—his leg _was_ hurting pretty badly—and he cried out as he started to fall. Before he could hit the ground, however, a massive pair of arms came up to catch him, and hold him securely to a warm chest.

Dick grabbed onto an arm and tried to struggle to get away, and Bat-Man let him go. Dick took a few steps before he turned around, facing the creature and breathing heavily. Bat-Man just stared back, tall and huge and imposing, with eyes of scarlet.

Dick, however, looked closer through the darkness. Bat-Man was hunched, and he could distinctly see how badly his wing was torn. He had tufts of fur missing. But the thing that made Dick step closer was the look in Bat-Man’s eyes. In Bruce’s eyes. 

“You’re hurt,” Dick whispered, and he didn’t know if he was talking about the man’s body or his soul.

 _“Dick,”_ Bat-Man said lowly, _”I was wrong. To do that to you.”_

Dick nodded, and stepped closer, and now they were almost touching. If Bruce wanted to grab him, or kill him, or bite him, he could do it. But he wasn’t moving.

Dick reached out and put a hand on the man’s chest.

“No heartbeat,” he noted faintly. Dick looked up into those red eyes, and he felt like he could see all the sadness and weight of them crashing down on him. How lonely Bruce must be. He felt one huge arm wrap around him, and closed his eyes and buried his face in Bruce’s chest.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Bruce breathed, and Dick nodded again. He felt all the fear and anger and sadness and confusion that had been dammed up finally let loose. He started to shake and cry into Bruce’s chest, and Bruce lowered them slowly to the ground, back up against the tree.

They stayed in that position even longer, Dick crying in earnest into Bruce as he sat wrapped in his lap. This felt so, so different from what had been going on only an hour earlier; before it had been all passion and lust and recklessness on both ends. Now all Dick felt from Bruce was safety and cautious care.

After a while Dick stopped crying and realized Bruce had shielded them with his wings, so they were somewhat closed off to the cold air. He was stroking his hair with his huge claws, and as creepy as it seemed, it also felt really nice.

“I was so scared,” Dick said softly, and Bruce squeezed him a little tighter.

_“So was I.”_

“Who was that…man?”

Bruce stopped stroking his hair and looked down at him wearily.

 _“Now’s not the time for that,”_ he growled, and when Dick started to protest, _“I will tell you later, if you like. For now, we need to get you some rest.”_

Dick said nothing, but he had to admit to himself that he was exhausted.

Bruce gave a deep sigh. _“When I saw you again…”_ he trailed off, as if he was thinking better of speaking, but Dick looked up at him expectantly.

“What?”

 _“When I saw you, after all those years…Dick,”_ Bruce mumbled, and his voice sounded thick, _“You were the one soul who wasn’t afraid. And to see you become so beautiful, so good, so_ alive… _I never thought you would be interested in men, or in me, but you were, and that was..._ ” he stopped again, and Dick didn’t press him to continue. 

“It was you in the dream, wasn’t it,” Dick murmured. “You did that.” Bruce nodded.

_“I thought it would be enough. To keep myself away from you. You shouldn’t have to deal with…this.”_

Dick stared at him, unflinching and honestly, and those red eyes stared back.

“No,” Dick said quietly, “You’re the one who will have to deal with me.” he tapped a finger to his neck. “I haven’t forgotten this, you know.”

Bruce didn’t move as Dick leaned into his cheek and gave him the softest of kisses, but Dick could hear that intake of breath, feel the way that he stiffened.

 _“We should go,”_ Bruce growled, and Dick nodded. Far be it from him to test Bruce’s limits. The dried blood alone must have been enough to test him already.

 _“I can take you home,”_ Bruce said as he gathered Dick in his arms and flapped his wings once. _“Or Alfred can patch you up. It’s your choice._

“I promised you I’d stay the night,” Dick said a little sleepily, and he thought he saw the faintest of smiles, a flash of those long teeth.

_“Then hang on.”_

A few more flaps of his wings and an almighty push, and suddenly they were flying through the starless night and on their way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! So what do you think is next for Dick and Bruce in their kind of sweet, really creepy, definitely sexy relationship?! And who do you think that crazy other Bat-Man was? Time will tell, and the next chapter will reveal many more of Bruce's secrets.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your comments. Honestly, it's such a joy to read them and know that you guys like my work! So sorry for the ridiculously long wait on this one--life is catching up with me, you know? Luckily I have a break coming up, so that means more time to write!
> 
> Follow me at moonintheknight.tumblr.com if you haven't already! And as always, keep those reviews coming!


	6. Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after, and Dick needs Bruce to open up before they can move on.

Dick awoke in a huge, soft bed in a dimly-lit room, not quite sure where he was.

He blinked slowly, disoriented but so content he almost didn’t care. The source of light was coming from an ornate lamp on the bedside table. There were heavy curtains draped across the window, but Dick didn’t think it was early enough to be light outside anyway.

He sat up in the comfy bed and tried to stretch, but winced when he felt the sting of the bruises and cuts all over his body, and in a rush he remembered: the crash, the monster. The Bat-Man.

Bruce.

_Oh yeah._

He must be in Wayne Manor, then. Dick glanced around quickly to discern if this was Bruce’s room, but it seemed so clean and ornate and impersonal that he figured he must be in a guest room.

Dick looked down at his body and noticed he was clothed, but not in the outfit he was wearing earlier that night. A soft t-shirt that was about two sizes too big for him and a pair of cozy sweatpants. He gingerly lifted up his shirt. His cuts had been bandaged and it felt like ointment had been applied to his bruises. Had Bruce done this?

His question was answered when the door to the room opened and Alfred Pennyworth stepped in with a tray of medicine, fresh bandages, and a mug of tea.

“Ah, Master Dick. I see you’ve woken up,” the stately butler said, walking over to the bed and setting the tray down on the side table.

“Hi Alfred,” Dick said a little bashfully. He had no idea what Alfred might be thinking of him right now, but the look on his face remained as proper and unreadable as ever. “Um…what time is it?”

“Half-past five, sir. You’ve been out for about six hours,” Alfred busied himself with opening the various boxes and jars on his tray. “Would you like some tea?”

“I—yeah, that would be great, thank you,” Dick reached for the huge mug that Alfred passed him. It was a little alarming to see how utterly _calm_ the man was. He wondered if Bruce had ever brought anyone home like this before, maybe _that’s_ why he was so nonchalant—

“Pardon me?” Alfred was looking at him. Dick froze, the mug halfway to his lips. _Oh shit, did I say that out loud?!_

“Um…has—has this ever…happened before? With Bruce…and another person?” Dick asked, wincing as he heard how awkward his question was. What was he _thinking?_ But Alfred only looked mildly surprised by his question.

“Sir,” Alfred gave a weary sigh, leaning in to unwrap some of Dick’s old bandages. “I have to impress upon you the surreal nature of this situation. Master Bruce, as you can imagine, has not lived a normal life by any means, but tonight…was different.”

Alfred sighed again as he wrapped a new bandage around Dick’s torso, and Dick felt his heart sink. Alfred probably hated him. Hated him for barging into their lives and ruining their calm and putting them in danger. 

“I’m so sorry,” Dick blurted, and Alfred’s head shot up. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, I didn’t want Bruce to get hurt but—”

He was silenced by a consoling hand on his shoulder. A warm smile was on Alfred’s face.

“My dear boy,” the butler said, “You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. You went through a traumatic experience tonight, and none of it was your fault.”

Dick blinked as Alfred finished wrapping his bandages and started to apply the ointment to his bruises.

“If anything, I should apologize to you,” he said, and Dick winced as he rubbed a particularly nasty bruise. “I tried to convince Master Bruce not to drag you into this… _mess_ , and I tried to get him to tell you the truth. He has his issues opening up.”

“I know,” Dick frowned slightly, “I can tell. But it’s okay.”

Alfred stopped applying the ointment and looked at him again. The stern look was back. “No, it most certainly isn’t okay. You might have been wrong about this being your fault in any way, but you were correct in discerning that this is a very dangerous world in which Master Bruce lives.”

Dick rubbed his eyes. None of what Alfred said was anything he hadn’t thought himself in the past 12 hours, but, at the end of the day, _it didn’t matter._ He knew Alfred clearly disapproved because he was concerned for his safety, but Dick needed to see Bruce. It was like he was addicted.

“Where is he?” Dick asked quietly as Alfred gathered the items onto the tray. “Where’s Bruce?”

Alfred paused. “The cave. He wants to be alone, I’m afraid.”

 _The cave?!_ “Is he okay?” Dick asked, alarmed.

“Just fine,” Alfred smiled faintly. “Well, physically, anyway.”

Dick frowned. That didn’t really help. “Can I see him soon? I have some stuff I need to ask him.” _A lot of stuff, actually._

“And those questions will certainly be answered,” Alfred stood. “But you need to rest, and so does he, in a fashion.” He made to move towards the door.

“Alfred,” Dick spoke, and the butler stopped. “Can you tell me—”

“As I said,” the butler spoke, not unkindly, “Your questions will have answers, but Master Bruce will be the one to give them.”

“Fair enough,” Dick nodded, but even as he spoke a thousand questions burned through his mind. He wanted to know. 

As Alfred closed the door behind him, Dick frowned down at his scraped-up hands, trying to figure out what to do. It was five thirty now, so maybe he could poke around and try to find Bruce, or at least figure out more about him. _Is he even awake now? Is it true that vampires are nocturnal?_

Dick tried to quell the nervous energy that was racing through his veins. Maybe he should just go to bed, wait until Bruce came to him or he had to go home—

Home.

_I forgot to text Barbara!_

Dick knew how much his adoptive sister tended to worry about him, and he knew she probably was furious with him right now. How on _earth_ had he forgotten to text her?!

He looked around stupidly, wildly, for his phone for a few moments, before he realized that it was currently crushed and lying somewhere on a country road. He spotted an old antique phone on the nightstand, and hesitantly picked up. To his immense shock, there was actually a dial tone. Luckily he knew Barbara’s number by heart, so he dialed it with some trepidation and started to sweat nervously as it rang.

“…Hello?” a tired, muffled voice came through the receiver.

“Hey Babs, it’s me—”

_“Dick Grayson, where the fuck have you been?!”_

Dick winced. Barbara sounded a lot angrier than he thought she’d be.

“Sorry I didn’t call!” he squeaked out, listening to her breathe angrily into the receiver. “I, uh, lost my phone.”

“Oh, did you?” Barbara grumbled. “Here I am, freaking out and thinking you were OD’ed in some random Gotham alley, and you just ‘lost your phone’.” Dick could practically hear her air-quotes.

“I actually did lose it!” Dick retorted petulantly. “And why would I OD in some alley? What are you even talking about?”

“I was worried, _Richard_ ,” Barbara seethed, “I texted you a ton and you didn’t reply like you promised! And I’ve never met Bruce, if that is even his real name, so how was I supposed to know?”

“I am so sorry,” Dick said earnestly, “I feel really bad, I should have just texted you earlier. But it was kind of a, um, weird night.”

“Oh yeah? I’m guessing you slept over,” Barbara said wryly, the anger in her voice slowly fading. “How was _Bruce_?”

“His name _is_ Bruce, Babs,” Dick rolled his eyes. “And I didn’t sleep with him.”

“Sure,” Barbara snorted, but she lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Is he in bed next to you? Won’t you wake him up if you’re talking to me?”

“No, I’m serious, I didn’t—“

“But for real, is he a good guy? Clearly you like him a little if you’re sleeping over. Or were you just so wasted that—”

“BARBARA, I—um, yes,” Dick interrupted, then reconsidered. “Yeah. I got really drunk at the bar with Bruce and Carla so I’m…just crashing on his couch.” The ridiculously comfortable bed he was in was pretty much the opposite of some shitty couch, but whatever.

Barbara was silent for a moment. “You know, I’m going to choose to believe that lie, Dick,” she said slowly. “But you don’t have to be ashamed if you do the nasty with some dude, I won’t ever judge you.” 

Dick sighed exasperatedly. “I didn’t sleep with him, okay? Anyway, I should probably go…”

“Are you coming home now?” Barbara’s question turned into a yawn. 

“Nah, I…I think Bruce and Carla want to have breakfast tomorrow. But I’m exhausted, so I should get some more sleep.”  
Dick squeezed his eyes shut in regret as he lied once more, but what was he supposed to do? 

“Okay, baby bro. Tell _Bruce_ I said hello,” Barbara’s voice came out muffled, and it sounded like she had rolled into her pillow. “Come home soon, okay? I’ll cover with dad for you.”

“Thank you,” Dick said earnestly, ignoring the skepticism about Bruce’s name. “I won’t be out late, promise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Barbara replied, and Dick heard a clicking noise as she hung up.

He stared down at the receiver, guilt-ridden. He had lied to Barbara more in the past few days than he probably had his whole life, and it felt horrible. But he honestly didn’t know what else he could even say. _Hey, Barbara! I got a hand job by billionaire Bruce Wayne in a Ferrari last night. Did you know he’s also Bat-Man? And we got attacked by another vampire like him? And my phone is crushed in the wreckage of the car? Crazy, huh?!_

“No way,” Dick muttered to himself, and put the receiver on the console. He briefly considered shutting his eyes and actually trying to sleep, but he knew that wasn’t really an option. He was wide awake now, his body buzzing with adrenaline, the questions he wanted to ask Alfred still on his lips. An idea formed in his mind, and he knew it was a bad one, but…

Swiftly he hopped out of bed, the plush carpet warm and comforting under his feet. He pushed open the door and peered out cautiously into the hallway. It was long and dark, but a few wall sconces were lit much further down. 

_This place is huge,_ Dick realized, and as if pulled by some magnetic force he walked towards the glowing lights, tiptoeing past many shut doors and dimly-lit rooms. He figured his whole house could fit in this entire wing alone.

As he reached the end of the hallway he saw a dimly lit chandelier and a huge double staircase leading down to a marble foyer. With the extra lighting, Dick could see a wide variety of artwork on the walls, all impeccably framed and obviously very expensive. He crept down the stairs and marveled at them, each looking more beautiful than the last.

He was about to go further into the house—maybe he could run into Bruce in one of the many kitchens in this place?—until something caught his eye through large entryway off the foyer, it’s doors ever so slightly ajar. The cavernous room was almost completely dark, but it had a huge bay window facing the front of the house. The sky was just starting to show the first signs of light, but it was foggy outside, and an eerie, grayish glow came in through the window. The strange lighting was only partially what caught his eye, however. Dick stepped a little further into the room.

At first he thought he had seen a painting of Bruce. Huge and imposing, it took up a large section of the wall perpendicular to the window. As Dick came closer, though, he realized that the man depicted was a little older than Bruce, and he had dark brown hair instead of black…

“‘Alan Wayne,’” Dick whispered aloud as he read the placard beneath the picture. Vaguely he remembered learning something in his Gotham History class in high school about this Wayne family patriarch, but he couldn’t quite remember what. He noticed that there were more pictures and portraits of Wayne family members, some almost as big as Alan’s, others quite small. 

Dick looked around the room some more, his interest thoroughly piqued. He realized what was so off about this room besides the creepy lighting and the haunted house-esque portraits—it looked like people rarely came here to do anything. The rest of the house looked pristine, cleaned probably top-to-bottom by Alfred, but this place was slightly dusty and dated and _still._

There looked to be some statutes or busts draped in white furniture covers that ran through the center of the room, and Dick resisted the temptation to see what was underneath. It only added to the room’s atmosphere, and Dick couldn’t help but think that it looked like a parade of ghosts marching through. 

_And that was this room is, isn’t it?_ Dick thought as he peered at a framed article about Joshua Wayne, _It’s a shrine. A memorial for people who are long gone. No wonder no one comes in here._

“Looking for something?”

Dick gave a little exclamation as he whipped around nervously, an apology on his lips, but it died as soon as he saw the man standing in the doorway.

Bruce looked…strange. He was back to being human again, or so it seemed, but there was something very different. Dick noticed that his eyes weren’t red, but they weren’t their piercing blue either. They were very dark, almost black, and were looking at him hungrily.

His body was a different story. He stood stiff and alert, almost as if forcing himself to stay still against his will. And his skin was almost glowing, it was so pale.

None of this did anything to deter or discourage Dick. Instead, he felt his heartbeat speed up, that familiar sensation of desire welling somewhere south of his stomach. _Good god, you’re beautiful_.

“No! God, I’m sorry. I guess I’m not supposed to be in here,” Dick took one hesitant step forward. When Bruce didn’t move or react, he quickly moved closer, trying not to bound across the room like an overexcited puppy.

It wasn’t until he was a few feet away that he heard Bruce make a low, quiet sound, almost like a groan, before he held out a hand slightly.

“Wait.”

Dick stopped abruptly, obediently. Bruce’s expression hadn’t changed, but he was clenching his fists so hard that Dick was worried he would hurt himself.

“Is everything okay?”

Bruce nodded, once, but didn’t stop with the fist-clenching. “I just need you to stay…there.”

“Oh.” _No, just let me_ near _you!_

For a moment they just looked at each other, Bruce stone-faced and unblinking, Dick breathing somewhat heavily and trying not to fidget. Bruce was just wearing loose black cotton sweatpants and a matching robe. He was probably shirtless underneath. Dick wanted to press himself to that body, kiss away the pain on the older man’s face, make him open _up—_

“Bruce,” Dick blurted, stepping closer despite the increasingly alarmed look on Bruce’s face, “Look, sorry I came wandering around down here but I was just…” he looked pleadingly up at him, “I was worried about you.”

“Please,” Bruce held his hand up, motioning for Dick to stop again, and the younger man complied. “I need you to stay back, Dick.”

“Why?” Dick asked, trying to keep the whine out of his voice, because _of course he knew why!_

“It’s a delicate situation,” he murmured, and as his eyes left Dick’s face and traveled down his body, Dick was acutely aware that he was still shirtless. 

“What is,” Dick asked a little breathily, and he was close enough to smell Bruce’s smell, all soapy and woody and something rich.

“Morphing back,” Bruce murmured. Very, very cautiously he reached out a hand and rubbed a thumb lightly across a bandage on Dick’s side. “Do these feel alright? Do you need any more medicine?”

“No,” Dick replied steadily, gazing up into that face that bore such a concerned expression. “Alfred gave me some just a little while ago. But, um,” he tried to refocus as Bruce returned his gaze. “You said…morphing? Is that what you call it? When you change into—“

“Yes,” rumbled Bruce, and his face looked in danger of closing off again, “It’s what _I_ call it, anyway. It can be difficult,” Bruce sounded like he wanted to say more but stopped.

“Difficult to do what?”

“To…control myself. Immediately before, after, and especially while I’m in that state,” he looked away from Dick, down at the floor, “I’m very sorry you had to see me that way.”

It was Dick who reached out this time and gently grasped Bruce’s hand, causing the older man to practically hiss in surprise. 

“I didn’t mind seeing you that way,” Dick said honestly, and Bruce gave him a look like he didn’t believe him. “It’s true. There’s nothing wrong with it, and you never have to apologize for it.”

“But I do,” Bruce growled, “I do. I put you in danger for my own selfish needs. You’re hurt because of me.”

Dick shook his head, and brought Bruce’s hand up to his mouth.

“You don’t have to do this again,” Dick murmured, and Bruce’s eyes softened as he placed his lips on them ever so lightly. “You already apologized for all of this earlier. Don’t torture yourself because of me.”

Bruce let out a long sigh as Dick kissed his knuckles, and brought his other hand up to ruffle Dick’s hair, to stroke his cheek.

“If you wanted to leave, Dick,” Bruce said tightly, but with far less conviction than before, “I wouldn’t—it would be wise. You shouldn’t be involved in all of this. With me.”

“Did you really think it was all you?” Dick gave him a little smirk, leaning into the cool hand on his cheek. “You have to know how much I want you too, Bruce.”

Bruce had an exasperated look on his face, but emitted a noise that was definitely verging on a moan. He leaned in to rest his forehead against Dick’s, pulling him closer.

“You really shouldn’t say those things,” Bruce murmured, and Dick could hear his labored breathing, feel his body _aching_ to pull Dick flush against him. “Not smart.” A hand trailed down his back and rested just above his ass.

“Is this your way of convincing me to leave?” Dick laughed quietly. Bruce’s skin felt so cool and soothing against his own. “If so, it’s not really working, is it—”

_Finally._

Bruce wrapped Dick in his arms and brought him in for a deep, bruising, _serious_ kiss, one that Dick couldn’t help but moan into. Bruce tasted too damn good, this felt _so_ right, and as Dick tangled a hand in Bruce’s hair and desperately tried not to straight up hump the older man’s leg, Bruce finally broke away. 

“Fuck,” he murmured so quietly that Dick could barely hear him. Bruce was giving him that predatory look again, and Dick figured it was best to untangle himself from him. Reluctantly, he pulled away.

“Difficult,” Bruce murmured again, still staring at Dick, and he ran a hand shakily through his hair. “So difficult.”

“You won’t hurt me,” Dick said softly but confidently. “You didn’t earlier tonight. That must have been hard. But you didn’t.”

“You say that now,” Bruce said quietly. “But it only takes one mistake. One slip-up, and it could be over for you.”

 _Over?_ Dick thought. _What does he even mean by that? I thought…_

“But if you…” Dick started, and Bruce raised an eyebrow. How could he ask this delicately? “If you… _bit_ me…wouldn’t you just…morph me?”

“‘Just?’” Bruce said lowly, and Dick was concerned that he had maybe asked a completely inappropriate question. “There’s no ‘just’ about it. And no, not necessarily. I could very easily kill you.”

“Oh,” Dick looked down at the floor. Bruce certainly sounded a little offended, but didn’t he have the right to know? “But…what if—”

“So curious,” Bruce spoke suddenly, and Dick shot his head up. 

“What is?”

“You are. So many questions,” Bruce’s gaze was imperceptible. 

“Don’t you think I should know these things? I mean, if I’m going to be around you?”

Bruce stared at him for one long moment. Then, “Yes. You should know.”

“Perhaps then, Master Bruce, you would like to discuss them over breakfast?”

Bruce and Dick turned towards the door as Alfred’s voice rang through the room. The butler was staring expectantly at Bruce.

“Yes, Alfred,” Bruce sighed. “That would be fine. We’ll be there in a moment.”

“Sir, if I may,” Alfred began, but Bruce just gave him a small smile.

“We’re fine here, Alfred.”

Alfred turned to go, but while he did he looked pointedly at Dick, who smiled in return. Dick knew Alfred was probably just seriously concerned about his well-being, but he wondered what effect his actions had on Bruce.

“He’s worried too,” Bruce noted as he turned back to Dick. 

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Dick almost shrugged, but he didn’t want to seem too flip. “I’m sure he’s pretty protective of you. He doesn’t want anything to happen.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows at that, and said nothing. Dick tentatively reached for a hand again, and Bruce let him have it.

“I won’t push you anymore, Bruce. But you’re not going to hurt me.” he wound his fingers through Bruce’s, and he could see a ghost of a smile play on the older man’s lips. “I know it.”

“You don’t know,” Bruce said a little sadly, but he was still smiling as he leaned down to brush his lips against Dick’s forehead, then his cheek, then the shell of his ear.

“Maybe,” Dick murmured. _God, those lips…_ “But I would like to, if you’d let me in.”

Dick heard Bruce’s breathing hitch.

“I would like that,” he groaned, very quietly, and turned Dick’s head to look him in the eye. “I want to share everything with you. And it scares me.”

Dick looked up at him. Bruce looked so beautiful, so sad in the grey light. Dick wondered just how long he’d been alone, when the last time he’d had someone besides Alfred to really talk to was, how long he’d been cooped up in this house. It was no mystery why Bruce never wanted to visit this room: he probably felt like he belonged in it.

“There are some things I need to know now,” Dick said, “And some things you never have to tell me, if you don’t want. But I will always listen.”

Bruce blinked at him once, as if he couldn’t comprehend what Dick was saying. “Why?” he asked, squeezing Dick’s hand.

“What do you mean?”

“Why would you want to?”

“Whose the one asking all the questions now?” Dick grinned, and Bruce scowled. “But I guess I’m just curious,” he replied, and tilted his head up and once more captured Bruce’s lips in his, Bruce again wrapping an arm around Dick, loosely this time.

Bruce made a very contented noise as they broke apart, like Dick was something delicious that he couldn’t wait to taste again.

“Was that easier?” Dick asked, licking his lips.

“Yes,” Bruce breathed. “A little.”

“Good,” Dick smiled. “Now, not that I want to stop doing this—I really, really don’t—but I want to try some of Alfred’s cooking.” He raised an eyebrow at Bruce. “Lead the way?”

Bruce nodded and guided Dick out of the room, his hand on the small of Dick’s back. As they walked through the intricate foyer and into the kitchen, Bruce kissed the top of Dick’s head and breathed, _”Thank you.”_

Dick smiled to himself as they approached the kitchen. He understood. He figured Bruce would need some prying to open up. And he probably would for many more times after this. 

But Dick had questions that needed to finally be answered. And it needed to be done now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS. Thank you so much for the comments, kudos, bookmarks and sweet reviews! Also for putting up with me for this long. So sorry this chapter was delayed. I'm just glad I could get this done! Hope you appreciate the schmoopy goodness. Even Vampires need someone to talk to, dammit!
> 
> And some good news: this chapter was originally much, much longer. So much longer that I split it into two. The follow up will answer many burning questions about the Bat-Man and his history, Bruce gives Dick a special surprise, and--wait for it--SEXY TIMES! Hopefully I'll get it out to you before the new year.
> 
> Thank you guys again! And remember, follow me at moonintheknight.tumblr.com !


	7. Education, Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce teaches, Dick learns--Part One.

Dick watched as Bruce settled himself gracefully into the huge leather wingback chair across from him. He couldn’t help but wish they were a little bit closer together— they were in the study, and Bruce had placed himself on one side of his ornate cherry desk, with Dick on the other. Dick noticed that all the curtains were drawn tight—there was no natural light in the room.

“Will this be an adequate place to…talk?” Bruce had asked awkwardly. Dick had agreed, but now it felt oddly formal, like Dick was there for a job interview or something. A job interview in pajamas, which made the situation even stranger. 

Alfred had discreetly brought Dick the large sleep shirt he had worn to bed as he and Bruce ate breakfast. Well, Dick had eaten breakfast—a mountain of the most delicious waffles, bacon and eggs that Dick had ever tasted, along with a huge mug of French-pressed coffee. Bruce had seemed to content to sit, talk to Alfred and just…watch him. Dick hadn’t been totally crazy about eating alone in front of two people who weren’t, but when one of those people was a vampire who didn’t need to eat, it made him feel a little less guilty.

Now Dick nursed the mug of coffee while Bruce stared him down, beautiful and unblinking, from across the desk. His robe was a little looser, revealing more glowing pale skin than before, and Dick kept glancing at it distractedly.

“Well,” Bruce finally cleared his throat, and Dick shot his gaze back up to Bruce’s eyes, “I can’t say I have…experience…sharing details like this. With anyone. But I will try my best.” he leaned forward and offered a small smile. “What would you like to know first?”

Dick gnawed on his bottom lip. He had so many questions that needed to be answered that it was hard to choose.

“Who…” Dick paused, frowning, and tried again. “Why did you…why did you pick me?”

Bruce furrowed his brow. “Pick you? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I mean, you could have had almost anyone in Gotham,” Dick grinned weakly. “So why me? Why some waiter kid you don’t even know?”

Bruce cocked his head thoughtfully, and Dick felt his cheeks heat up. Had he asked a stupid question right off the bat?

“Dick, it’s nothing about…it wasn’t totally my choice,” Bruce began, and Dick tried and failed to feel nonchalant about that. Something about his words must have reflected on Dick’s face, because Bruce scrambled to add, “No, that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what _do_ you mean?”

“Levels of attraction for…someone like me…are hard to control at times,” Bruce sighed deeply, and his gaze looked incredibly weary now. “Some humans smell better than others. Some look more appealing. Some sound distinctive. And sometimes, you come across people who have a glorious combination, the perfect levels of attraction. You follow?”

Dick nodded quickly, sitting up a little straighter in his chair.

“Since I turned I have never had too much of a problem controlling my…attractions. When I was young, yes, but not after that,” Bruce’s expression turned a little darker, his gaze more focused as he added, “Until I met _you_ , of course.”

Dick felt his hair stand up a little on his neck, his heart rate speed up as Bruce continued to stare. “…Oh?”

“Oh,” Bruce agreed. “You have no idea…I thought I was going to take you right there at dinner…I have never seen anyone who moved like you did, who looked like you did, who _smelled_ …” Bruce trailed off, still giving him that smoldering glare, and Dick felt the warm heat of arousal begin to pool below his stomach.

“You knew,” Dick interrupted suddenly, “You knew I was the boy you met in the alley.”

“Yes,” Bruce cast his glance downward for the first time since they had sat down. “You smelled incredible then, too. Not in the same way,” he added quickly, as Dick looked somewhat alarmed, “But I knew you were…special. Different. A potential.”

“‘A potential’…what?” Dick asked a little breathlessly.

“A potential mate,” Bruce said slowly, and Dick felt himself shiver, “Many times an attraction, a… _bloodlust_ is one-sided,” Bruce rolled a ballpoint pen distractedly between his fingers. “But with a potential mate, often it can go both ways. You can control me in ways that others cannot. You are—I’m assuming—attracted to me in ways that others are not.”

“How does _that_ work?” Dick asked, genuinely curious, but Bruce merely shrugged.

“I do not know. I do know that it is incredibly hard for me to be around you and…” Bruce stopped rolling the pen, and began tapping it gently on his lips, “and do nothing.”

“Is it hard,” Dick wetted his lips subconsciously and Bruce gave a little ghost of a grin, “Is it hard to not bite me? Is it hard to not _turn_ me? Or is it mating—”

“It’s hard not to do _everything_ to you, Dick Grayson,” Bruce murmured sexily, and Dick tried in vain not to get hard in his loose sweatpants, “But your blood…I know….” and Dick felt a thrill of fear as he saw a momentary red flash in Bruce’s eyes, “would taste delicious.” 

Dick felt his breathing slow as Bruce continued to stare at him, pen in his mouth, and—yep, he was definitely hard. _What the hell is wrong with you, Grayson?_ he though wildly. _Why does being potentially close to a blood-soaked death turn you on???_

“But,” Dick managed hoarsely, “Correct me if I’m wrong—this could just be me getting shitty info from television and books, or whatever—but if you bite someone, if you drink their blood, you don’t automatically kill them, right?”

Bruce’s weary looked returned, to Dick’s partial relief and regret. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, that is true. I don’t necessarily have to kill when I feed. Or turn someone, for that matter.”

“Aha,” exclaimed Dick enthusiastically, “then you could still bite me, right? Just don’t turn me, or kill me obviously, then you don’t have to worry—”

But Bruce was shaking his head, with an almost angry look on his face. “No, Dick,” he said severely, “Because of who you are, it would be that much harder to resist.”

Because Dick looked confused, he continued on. “You are my perfect combination for a mate. In the heat of the moment, my head would be almost completely out-ruled by my instincts, which would be to turn you,” he paused, “Or if you tasted good enough, to drink too much, which would obviously kill you. I can’t risk that happening.”

“But you don’t know that it would happen like that,” Dick said pleadingly, and Bruce scowled at him. “Well, I mean, it obviously worst-case scenario it _could_ go that way, which would be, um, bad, but you have more control than that.”

“Do I,” Bruce said coolly, but Dick grinned confidently at him nonetheless.

“You resisted last night.”

“What are you talking about?” Bruce snapped, “In the car, I almost took you, I almost made an enormous mist—”

“No, not in the car,” Dick smiled softly, “In the woods. When you were…holding me.” Bruce just stared at him. “We were there for a long time. You were Bat-Man, so I’m guessing it must have been even harder. You said this morning that in that phase you have a little less willpower…” he paused as another question came to him, completely ignoring Bruce’s slightly dazed looked of realization. 

“Hey, that reminds me. Can you…can you only bite someone when you’re the Bat-Man? Or could you whip out your fangs and bite me right now?”

_“‘Whip out my fangs’?”_ Bruce repeated incredulously, and Dick wondered if he’d been a little to precious with that statement. “Cute. But yes, I can feed in either form. When I morph it is mostly for tactical reasons.”

“So when you need to be Bat-Man,” Dick noted, “Or…or when you get attacked? Like last night?”

Bruce’s face darkened fully now, and Dick knew he was thinking of the creature, the other Bat from last night.

“I…yes.” Bruce murmured finally. “I don’t really wish to discuss—”

“But that’s important,” Dick argued. “I have a right to know who that was, and why he attacked you.”

Bruce stared him down for a few more moments, rolling the pen once more between his fingers, and then sighed, dropping it to the desktop.

“His name was Marcos, and as I’m sure you have gathered, he was another vampire,” Bruce spoke every word with an angry bite. “I have an agreement with our council. Most of _us_ have the same one. I watch over Gotham—it’s mine, in a sense—and no other vampire is allowed in my territory without my say. For that law to be broken is...more than troubling.”

“So why did Marcos come here?” Dick asked curiously, “Why would he risk that?”

“To that, I truly don’t know,” Bruce mused. “I am sure you have been hearing the reports that I have been killing?”

Dick nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t believe them.”

“It obviously has not been me. I initially thought it was a criminal trying to set me up, but a quick investigation of the crime scene told me that it was a supernatural at work. Now I know who.”

“But not why,” Dick murmured, and Bruce gave him a sad smile.

“Now you see, Dick, why it is hard to have you around,” he said softly. “Danger from me. Danger from the outside. It is not a position one should put themselves in.”

“That’s my choice to make.”

Bruce let out a long-suffering sigh, and continued his mournful staring; looking for the world as if all he wanted to do was lunge across the table at Dick. “You really think so, do you?”

“You said this goes both ways, right?” Dick laughed. “You really think I can just up and leave? Could _you?”_

“If you wanted me to, yes,” Bruce replied huskily.

“What I want is _you,_ Bruce, I think I’m making that clear.”

Bruce brought his fingers to his temples and sighed again. Dick knew he should be a little less of a tease, especially now, but dammit, it was _hard_. It was hard being around this man and not flirting with him, or touching him, or kissing every inch of that gorgeous skin…

“Dick,” Bruce said, in that gravelly tone of voice Dick loved so much, “Any more questions?” he glanced quickly at the golden clock on his desk. “It’s getting late.”

_Late? But it’s the morning…_

“That reminds me,” Dick said slowly, “Are the rumors about vampires true? Can you not go out in the sun, or eat garlic, or wear a cross, or—”

“Yes,” Bruce said, and Dick felt his heart lurch: it was like he could almost _feel_ the pain coming from Bruce. “I can’t go out into the sun. It is extremely painful and extraordinarily dangerous for me.” Dick reached out and placed his warm hand on Bruce’s cool one, and the billionaire looked up at him gratefully.

“The other weapons of lore—garlic, wooden stakes, crucifixes—they are dangerous too, but nothing brings me more immediate danger than the sun.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick said quietly, threading his fingers through Bruce’s, “That must be terrible.”

“It’s alright. I have this manor, and the cave, during the day. I’ve gotten over it,” Bruce said evenly, but Dick didn’t believe him in the slightest.

“How—how long?” he asked, and Bruce just looked at him. “How long have you been a vampire?”

“Twelve years,” Bruce nearly whispered, “It’s been twelve years now. I’m relatively young.”

“Have you aged since then?”

“No,” Bruce murmured, “I have not.”

“How did it happen?”

Immediately Dick knew this was something that Bruce was not prepared to tell. His face closed off completely and he reluctantly pulled his hand away.

“I—I’m so sorry, I—”

“No,” Bruce said, very quietly now. “ _I’m_ sorry. But that is not a tale I’m prepared to tell.” 

Dick looked at him, really _looked_ at him, looked at the resigned sadness on the older man’s face, and felt his heart breaking in two. Someone who had lost his parents at such a young age, who had lived an incredibly lonely life, had it all taken away when he was just a young man. 

How cruel. How _wrong_.

“It’s not fair,” Dick said furiously, and Bruce gave him a small smile.

“I find that’s how life goes,” he said, “But there is beauty in it, still.” He glanced a little curiously at Dick. “Now…may I ask you some questions?”

Somehow Dick was not expecting that, but for the moment he couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to ask. “Of course!” _He’s probably going to ask more about my family, maybe about school…_

“What would you like me to do with you?”

“Do…with me? What do you—”

“What do you want from this? Physically and emotionally?”

_Oh._ “I…I want to _know_ you, Bruce. I want to learn from you, to understand you better,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound like too much of a phony. “You’re the most impressive man I’ve ever met.”

Bruce was still staring, of course, but the slyest of grins was working its way up his face.

“You talk…you say how dangerous this life would be for me, like that would deter me,” Dick went on, trying his best to meet those heavily smoldering blue eyes, “But that doesn’t intimidate me, it doesn’t scare me like I know it should. It makes me want to be near you more than anything else.”

“That’s very single-minded thinking,” Bruce muttered, “Reckless.”

“Maybe,” Dick allowed, “And deep down I know that. But I also know I can’t fight this any more than you can.” He grinned wickedly. “I _really_ want you, Bruce.”

“How,” Bruce’s smile was fully wolfish now, “does someone so young, with so little experience, get so _bold_?” 

“Dunno,” Dick smiled innocently, “But you can help me with the experience, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” Bruce said evenly, but Dick could see he was gripping the arm of his chair so hard it looked like it might break. He leaned slightly across the desk and opened his mouth to speak.

There was a knock on the door and Alfred poked his head in. “Sirs? I don’t mean to intrude, but it is past ten.”

It was like a spell had been broken. Bruce gave a soft sigh, releasing his vice-like grip on the arm of the chair. “Thank you, Alfred. Call a car for Dick, please.”

“Yes, sir,” Alfred nodded, and left the door ajar as he exited into the hallway. Dick glanced curiously at Bruce, who was looking somewhat guiltily after the butler.

“Does…um…does Alfred not like me?”

Bruce snapped his head back towards Dick. “No!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “No. That’s not it at all.” 

“Then what—?”

“He doesn’t trust me, Dick,” Bruce said a little sadly, “He doesn’t fully trust me around you, as I don’t fully trust myself.” 

“He should have a little more faith in you,” Dick began stubbornly, but stopped when Bruce shook his head again.

“I’m not sure it’s something you can quite understand,” he murmured, and before Dick could protest he stood up and held out a hand. “Come. The car will be here soon. I’ll walk you to the door.”

As they left the ornate study Dick was surprised to feel a cool arm wrap around his waist and pull him closer. Bruce didn’t say anything, Dick shivered as a finger stroked along his hip, up and down.

Sure enough, Dick could see Alfred waiting in the foyer, but Bruce stopped just before they entered. Confused, Dick turned to look up at him.

“The light from the window,” Bruce whispered, and Dick kicked himself internally for not realizing it earlier. 

“Will I hear from you soon?” Dick asked, hoping he didn’t sound too pathetically hopeful.

“Yes,” Bruce rasped, “Very soon.” He placed an innocent kiss on the top of Dick’s head, as a not-so-innocent hand ran up underneath his shirt, squeezing his hip rather possessively. Dick heard himself suck in a sharp breath of air.

“Be good, Dick Grayson,” Bruce purred as the hand gave him one last squeeze, “Stay out of trouble.” 

As Dick stepped away towards the foyer, he heard Bruce murmur throatily,

“Maybe you’ll _dream_ of me soon.”

_How did he—?!_

Dick whipped his head around, a question on his parted lips, but Bruce just stepped backwards into the shadows, his eyes glittering, and turned away.

As Dick bid Alfred farewell and slid into the black town car, he realized there was still so much more he needed to learn about Bruce Wayne. 

He was a good, willing student. Somehow he knew Bruce would be an _excellent_ teacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY. CRAP. It's been a while!
> 
> First of all, I want to give you guys a big apology! Last December when I was actively working on this fic, I got a full-time job offer out of the blue. Very exciting, but also very stressful and time-consuming, as you can imagine. I had to pick up and move 500 miles away. So needless to say, for the past eight months I have been very, very busy.
> 
> Nonetheless, I have always wanted to return to this fic, as I loved writing it and I loved reading your comments. I should have let you know that I was on hiatus, but somehow I never did. For that, I am sorry :( Please forgive me!
> 
> But now I'm back!
> 
> I will be honest, though--the chapters will be shorter (probably 2k-4k words each, we'll see) and I won't update quite as frequently. But I am really invested in this world and this ship and this fic, and if you guys still want it, I WILL PROVIDE!
> 
> This chapter will be split in two, Education parts 1 & 2\. It is one of my favorite, favorite chapters to write, because in part 1 you learn so much about Bruce's past, and part 2 Dick learns a lot. Physically. I can't WAIT.
> 
> So I hope you loved this little chapter, and if you did you're in luck! I will have part 2--I PROMISE--up by this weekend, and no later. The next chapter is heavily NSFW, so be warned. Or be excited.
> 
> So thank you so much again for bearing with me, and I hope you enjoy!


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